











.^^-\ 






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A YEAR'S LIFE 



YEAR'S LIFE 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 



3cl? (ittbe gelebt imt> Qtiitbtt. 



BOSTON: 

C. C. LITTLE AND J. BROWN. 

M DCCC XLI. 



^I^hH'^ 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1841, by 

C. C. Little and J. Brown, 
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of 
Massachusetts. 

MAY 1 5 197a 




CAMBRIDGE: 

FOLSOM, WELLS, AND THURSTON, 

PRINTERS TO THE UNIVERSITY. 



DEDICATION 



The gentle Una I have loved, 

The snowy maiden, pure and mild. 

Since ever by her side I roved. 

Through ventures strange, a wondering child, 

In fantasy a Red Cross Knight, 

Burning for her dear sake to fight. 

If there be one who can, like her. 
Make sunshine in Hfe's shady places, 
One in whose holy bosom stir 
As many gentle household graces, — 
And such I think there needs must be, — 
Will she accept this book from me ? 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Threnodia 3 

The Serenade 10 

Song. ''Lift up the curtains of thine eyes" . . . .15 

The Departed 17 

The Bobolink . . . . i 24 

Song, f' What reck I of the stars, when I" . . . . 30 

The Poet 32 

Flowers . , > 35 

The Lover 43 

To E. W. G. . i 46 

Isabel 51 

3Iusic 54 

Song. ''O! I must look on that sweet face" . . .61 

lanlhe 65 

Love's Altar 76 

My Love 79 

With a Pressed Flower 84 

Impartiality . . . 87 

Bellerophon 89 

Something Natural 97 

The Syrens 99 

A Feeling __. . . . 105 

The Beggar 107 

Serenade 110 

Iren6 . .112 

The Lost Child . . 118 

The Church 120 

The Unlovely 124 

Love-Song 128 

Song. "All things are sad" 130 

A Love-Dream 134 

Fourth of July Ode 138 

Sphinx 140 



CONTENTS. 



Sonnets. I. 

II. 

III. 

IV. 

V. 

VI. 

VII. 

VIII. 

IX. 

X. 

XI. 

XII. 

XIII. 

XIV. 

XV. 

XVI. 

XVII. 

XVtII. 

XIX. 

XX. 

XXI. 

XXII. 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 

Sonnets on Names 

II. Rose 

III. Mary . 

IV. Caroline 
V. Anne . 

" Goe, Little Booke ! " 



Disappointment .... 
" Great human nature '' . 

To a Friend 

Continued .... 

" O child of Nature '' . 
^' For this true nobleness " 

To 

Continued .... 

" Why should we ever weary " 

Green Mountains 

'' My friend; adown Life's valley " 

"Verse cannot say how beautiful " 

"The soul would fain" 

" I saw a gate " ... 

'^ I would not have this perfect love 

" To the dark, narrow house " 

" I fain would give to thee " 

" Much had I mused " 

" Sayest thou, most beautiful " 

'' Poet ! who sittest in thy pleasant room 

" No more but so ? '" . 

To a Voice heard in Mount Auburn 

On reading Spenser again 

" Light of mine eyes ! " . 

" Silent as one who treads " 

"A gentleness that grows of steady faith 

" When the glad soul is full " 

To the Evening-star 

Reading .... 

To , after a Snow-storm 

I. Edith . 



A YEAR'S LIFE 



Hope first the youthful Poet leads, 
And he is glad to follow her; 
Kind is she, and to all his needs 
With a free hand doth minister. 

But, when sweet Hope at last. hath fled, 
Cometh her sister Mem»fy ; 
She wreaths Hope's garlands round her head, 
And strives to seem as fair as she. 

Then Hope comes back, and by the hand 
She leads a child most fair to see, 
Who with a joyous face doth stand 
Uniting Hope and Memefy. 

So brighter grew the Earth around, 
And bluer grew the sky above ; 
The Poet now his guide hath found. 
And follows in the steps of Love. ^ 



THRENODIA. 



Gone, gone from us ! and shall we see 

Those sybil-leaves of destiny, 

Those calm eyes, nevermore ? 

Those deep, dark eyes so warm and bright, 

Wherein the fortunes of the man 

Lay slumbering in prophetic light, 

In characters a child might scan ? 

So bright, and gone forth utterly ! 

O stern word — Nevermore ! 

The stars of those two gentle eyes 
Will shine no more on earth ; 
Quenched are the hopes that had their birth. 
As we watched them slowly rise. 



THRENODIA. 

Stars of a mother's fate ; 

And she would read them o'er and o'er, 

Pondering, as she sate. 

Over their dear astrology. 

Which she had conned and conned before, 

Deeming she needs must read aright 

What was writ so passing bright. 

And yet, alas ! she knew not why, 

Her voice would falter in its song. 

And tears would slide from out her eye. 

Silent, as they were doing wrong. 

Her heart was like a wind-flower, bent 

Even to breaking with the balmy dew, 

Turning its heavenly nourishment 

(That filled with tears its eyes of blue. 

Like a sweet suppliant that weeps in prayer, 

Making her innocency show more fair. 

Albeit unwitting of the ornament,) 

Into a load too great for it to bear : 

O stern word — Nevermore ! 



THRENODIA. 5 

The tongue, that scarce had learned to claim 
An entrance to a mother's heart 
By that dear talisman, a mother's name, 
Sleeps all forgetful of its art ! 
I loved to see the infant soul 
(How mighty in the weakness 
Of its untutored meekness !) 
Peep timidly from out its nest, 
His lips, the while, 
Fluttering with half-fledged words, 
Or hushing to a smile 
That more than words expressed, 
When his glad mother on him stole 
And snatched him to her breast ! 
O, thoughts were brooding in those eyes. 
That would have soared like strong- winged birds 
Far, far into the skies. 
Gladding the earth with song 
And gushing harmonies. 
Had he but tarried with us long ! 
O stern word — Nevermore ! 



6 THRENODIA. , ^ 

How peacefully they rest, 
Crossfolded there 
Upon his little breast, 

Those small, white hands that ne'er were still before. 
But ever sported with his mother's hair. 
Or the plain cross that on her breast she wore ! 
Her heart no more will beat 
To feel the touch of that soft palm. 
That ever seemed a new surprise 
Sending glad thoughts up to her eyes 
To bless him with their holy calm, — 
Sweet thoughts ! they made her eyes as sweet. 
How quiet are the hands 
That wove those pleasant bands ! 
But that they do not rise and sink 
With his calm breathing, I should think 
That he were dropped asleep ; 
Alas ! too deep, too deep 
Is this his slumber ! 
Time scarce can number 



THRENODIA. 

The years ere he will wake agen, — 
O, may we see his eyelids open then ! 
O stern word — Nevermore ! 

As the airy gossamere, 
Floating in the sunlight clear, 
Where'er it toucheth, clinging tightly, 
Round glossy leaf or stump unsightly, 
So from his spirit wandered out 
Tendrils spreading all about, 
Knitting all things to its thrall 
With a perfect love of all : 
O stern word — Nevermore ! 

He did but float a little way 
Adown the stream of time. 
With dreamy eyes watching the ripples play, 
Or listening their fairy chime ; 
His slender sail 
Ne'er felt the gale ; 



THRENODIA. 

He did but float a little way, 

And, putting to the shore 

While yet 't was early day, 

Went calmly on his way. 

To dwell with us no more ! 

No jarring did he feel. 

No grating on his vessel's keel ; 

A strip of silver sand 

Mingled the waters with the land 

Where he was seen no more : 

O stern word — Nevermore ! 

Full short his journey was ; no dust 
Of earth unto his sandals clave ; 
The weary weight that old men must, 
He bore not to the grave. 
He seemed a cherub who had lost his way 
And wandered hither, so his stay 
With us was short, and 't was most meet 
That he should be no delver in earth's clod, 



THRENODIA. 



Nor need to pause and cleanse his feet 
To stand before his God : 
O blest word — Evermore ! 



10 



THE SERENADE. 



i Gentle, Lady, be thy sleeping. 
Peaceful may thy dreamings be. 
While around thy soul is sweeping, 
Dreamy-winged, our melody ; 
Chant we. Brothers, sad and slow. 
Let our song be soft and low 
As the voice of other years. 
Let our hearts within us melt 
To gentleness, as if we felt 
The dropping of our mothers' tears. 

Lady ! now our song is bringing 
Back again thy childhood's hours, — 



THE SERENADE. 11 

Hearest thou the humbee singing 

Drowsily among the flowers ? 

Sleepily, sleepily 

In the noontide swayeth he, 

Half rested on the slender stalks 

That edge those well-known garden walks ; 

Hearest thou the fitful whirring 

Of the humbird's viewless wings, — 

Feel'st not round thy heart the stirring 

Of childhood's half-forgotten things ? 

Seest thou the dear old dwelling 
With the woodbine round the door? 
Brothers, soft ! her breast is swelling 
With the busy thoughts of yore ; 
Lowly sing ye, sing ye mildly. 
Rouse her spirit not so wildly. 
Lest she sleep not any more. 
'T is the pleasant summertide. 
Open stands the window wide, — 



12 THE SERENADE. 

Whose voices, Lady, art thou drinking ? 

Who sings that best beloved tune 

In a clear note, rising, sinking, 

Like a thrush's song in June ? 

Whose laugh is that which rings so clear 

And joyous in thine eager ear ? 

Lower, Brothers, yet more low 
Weave the song in mazy twines ; 
She heareth now the west wind blow 
At evening through the clump of pines : 
O ! mournful is their tone. 
As of a crazed thing 
Who, to herself alone, 
Is ever murmuring, 

Through the night and through the day, 
For something that hath past away. 
Often, Lady, hast thou listened, 
. Often have thy blue eyes glistened, 



THE SERENADE. 13 

When the summer evening breeze 

Moaned sadly through those lonely trees, 

Or the fierce wind from the north 

Wrung their mournful music forth. 

Ever the river floweth 

In an unbroken stream, 

Ever the west wind bloweth. 

Murmuring as he goeth. 

And mingling with her dream ; 

Onward still the river sweepeth 

With a sound of long-agone ; 

Lowly, Brothers, lo ! she weepeth, 

She is now no more alone ; 

Long-loved forms and long-loved faces 

Round about her pillow throng, 

Through her memory's desert places 

Flow the waters of our song. 

Lady ! if thy life be holy 

As when thou wert yet a child, 

Though our song be melancholy. 

It will stir no anguish wild ; 



14 THE SERENADE. 

For the soul that hath lived well, 
For the soul that child-like is, 
There is quiet in the spell 
That brings back early memories. 



15 



SONG. 

I. 

Lift up the curtains of thine eyes 
And let their light out-shine ! 

Let me adore the mysteries 
Of those mild orbs of thine, 

Which ever queenly calm do roll, 

Attuned to an ordered soul ! 

II. 
Open thy lips yet once again, 

And, while my soul doth hush 
With awe, pour forth that holy strain 

Which seemeth me to gush, 
A fount of music, running o'er 
From thy deep spirit's inmost core ! 



16 SONG. 

III. 

The melody that dwells in thee 

Begets in me as well 
A spiritual harmony, 

A mild and blessed spell ; 
Far, far above earth's atmosphere 
I rise, whene'er thy voice I hear. 



17 



THE DEPARTED. 



Not they alone are the departed, 
Who have laid them down to sleep 
In the grave narrow and lonely, 
Not for them only do I vigils keep, 
Not for them only am I heavy-hearted, 
Not for them only ! 

Many, many, there are many 
Who no more are with me here. 
As cherished, as beloved as any 
Whom I have seen upon the bier. 
I weep to think of those old faces, 
To see them in their grief or mirth ; 
2 



18 THE DEPARTED. 

I weep, — for there are empty places 
Around my heart's once crowded hearth ; 
The cold ground doth not cover them, > 
The grass hath not grown over them. 
Yet are they gone from me on earth ; — 
O ! how more bitter is this weeping. 
Than for those lost ones who are sleeping 
Where sun will shine and flowers blow. 
Where gentle winds will whisper low, 
And the stars have them in their keeping \ 
Wherefore from me who loved you so, 

! wherefore did ye go ? 

1 have shed full many a tear, 

I have wrestled oft in prayer, — - 
But ye do not come again ; 
How could any thing so dear. 
How could any thing so fair. 
Vanish like the summer rain ? 
No, no, it cannot be 
But ye are still with me ! 



THE DEPARTED. 19 

And yet, O ! where art thou, 
Childhood, with sunny brow 
And floating hair ? 
Where art thou hiding now ? 
I have sought thee everywhere, 
All among the shrubs and flowers 
Of those garden- walks of ours, — 
Thou art not there ! 
When the shadow of Night's wings 
Hath darkened all the Earth, 
I listen for thy gambolings 
Beside the cheerful hearth, — 
Thou art not there ! 
I listen to the far-ofl* bell, 
I murmur o'er the little songs 
Which thou did'st love so well, 
Pleasant memories come in throngs 
And mine eyes are blurred with tears, 
But no glimpse of thee appears : 



20 THE DEPARTED. 

Lonely am I in the Winter, lonely in the Spring, 
Summer and Harvest bring no trace of thee, — 
Oh ! whither, whither art thou wandering. 
Thou who did'st once so cleave to me ? 

And Love is gone ; — 
I have seen him come, 
I have seen him, too, depart. 
Leaving desolate his home. 
His bright home in my heart. 
I am alone ! 

Cold, cold is his hearth-stone. 
Wide open stands the door ; 
The frolic and the gentle one 
Shall I see no more, no more ? 
At the fount the bowl is broken, 
I shall drink it not again. 
All my longing prayers are spoken. 
And felt, ah, woe is me, in vain ! 
Oh childish hopes and childish fancies. 
Whither have ye fled away ? 



THE DEPARTED. 21 

I long for you in mournful trances, 

I long for you by night and day ; 

Beautiful thoughts that once were mine, 

Might I but win you back once more, 

Might ye about my being twine 

And cluster as ye did of yore ! 

O ! do not let me pray in vain, — 

How good and happy I should be, 

How free from every shade of pain, 

If ye would come again to me ! 

O, come again ! come, come again ! 

Hath the sun forgot its brightness, 

Have the stars forgot to shine. 

That they bring not their wonted lightness 

To this weary heart of mine ? 

'T is not the sun that shone on thee, 

Happy childhood, long ago, — 

Not the same stars silently 

Looking on the same bright snow, — 

Not the same that Love and I 



22 THE DEPARTED. 

Together watched in days gone by ! 
No, not the same, alas for me ! 

Would God that those who early went 
To the house dark and low, 
For whom our mourning heads were bent. 
For whom our steps were slow ; 
0, would that these alone had left us. 
That Fate of these alone had reft us, 
Would God indeed that it were so ! 
Many leaves too soon must wither. 
Many flowers too soon must die, 
Many bright ones wandering hither. 
We know not whence, we know not why, 
Like the leaves and like the flowers. 
Vanish, ere the summer hours. 
That brought them to us, have gone by. 

O for the hopes and for the feelings, 
Childhood, that I shared with thee, — 



THE DEPARTED. 23 

The high resolves, the bright revealings 

Of the soul's might, which thou gav'st me. 

Gentle Love, woe worth the day, 

Woe worth the hour, when thou wert born. 

Woe worth the day thou fled'st away, — 

A shade across the wind-waved corn, — 

A dewdrop falling from the leaves 

Chance-shaken in a summer's morn ! 

Woe, woe is me ! my sick heart grieves, 

Companionless and anguish-worn ! 

I know it well, our manly years 

Must be baptized in bitter tears ; 

Full many fountains must run dry 

That youth has dreamed for long hours by. 

Choked by convention's siroc blast 

Or drifting sands of many cares ; 

Slowly they leave us all at last. 

And cease their flowing unawares. 



24 



THE BOBOLINK. 

Anacreon of the meadow, 
Drunk with the joy of spring ! 
Beneath the tall .pine's voiceful shadow 
I lie and drink thy jargoning ; 
My soul is full with melodies, 
One drop would overflow it 
And send the tears into mine eyes, — 
But what car'st thou to know it ? 
Thy heart is free as mountain air, 
And of thy lays thou hast no care, 
Scattering them gaily everywhere, 
Happy, unconscious poet ! 



THE BOBOLINK. 25 

Upon a tuft of meadow grass, 
While thy loved-one tends the nest, 
Thou swayest as the breezes pass, 
Unburthening thine o'erfull breast 
Of the crowded songs that fill it. 
Just as joy may choose to will it. 
Lord of thy love and liberty. 
The blithest bird of merry May, 
Thou turnest thy bright eye on me, 
That says as plain as eye can say, — 
" Here sit we in the sunny weather, 
I and my modest mate together ; 
Whatever your wise thoughts may be, 
Under that gloomy old pine tree. 
We do not value them a feather ! " 

Now, leaving earth and me behind. 
Thou beatest up against the wind. 
Or, floating slowly down before it, 
Above thy grass-hid nest thou flutterest 



26 ' THE BOBOLINK. 

And thy bridal love-song utterest, 

Raining showers of music o'er it. 

Weary never, still thou trillest 

Spring-gladsome lays, 

As of moss-rimmed water-brooks 

Murmuring through pebbly nooks 

In quiet summer days. 

My heart with happiness thou fillest, 

I seem again to be a boy 

Watching thee, gay, blithesome lover. 

O'er the bending grass-tops hover. 

Quivering thy wings for joy. 

There 's something in the apple blossom. 

The greening grass and bobolink's song, 

That wakes again within my bosom 

Feelings which have slumbered long. 

As long, long years ago I wandered, 

I seem to wander even yet. 

The hours the idle school-boy squandered. 

The man would die ere he 'd forget. 



THE BOBOLINK. 27 

hours that frosty eld deemed wasted, 
Nodding his gray head toward my books, 

1 dearer prize the lore I tasted 

With you, among the trees and brooks, 

Than all that I have gained since then 

From learned books or study-withered men ! 

Nature, thy soul was one with mine. 

And, as a sister by a younger brother 

Is loved, each flowing to the other. 

Such love from me was thine. . 

Or wert thou not more like a IbVih'g mother 

With sympathy and loving power to heal. 

Against whose heart my throbbing heart I 'd lay 

And moan my childish sorrows all away, 

Till calm and holiness would o'er me steal ? 

Was not the golden sunset a dear friend ? 

Found I no kindness in the silent moon. 

And the green trees, whose tops did sway and bend. 

Low singing evermore their pleasant tune .'' 



28 THE BOBOLINK], 

Felt I no heart in dim and solemn woods, — 
No loved-one's voice in lonely solitudes ? 
Yes, yes ! unhoodwinked then my spirit's eyes, 
Blind leaders had not taught me to be wise. 

Dear hours ! which now again I over-live. 
Hearing and seeing with the ears and eyes 
Of childhood, ye were bees, that to the hive 
Of my young heart came laden with rich prize, 
Gathered in fields and woods and sunny dells, to be 
My spirit's food in days more wintery. 
Yea, yet again ye come ! ye come ! 
And, like a child once more at home 
After long sojourning in alien climes, 
I lie upon my mother's breast. 
Feeling the blessedness of rest. 
And dwelling in the light of other times. 

O ye whose living is not Life, 
Whose dying is but death. 



THE BOBOLINK. 29 

Long, empty toil and petty strife, 

Rounded with loss of breath ! 

Go, look on Nature's countenance, 

Drink in the blessing of her glance ; 

Look on the sunset, hear the wind, 

The cataract, the awful thunder ; 

Go, worship by the sea ; 

Then, and then only, shall ye find. 

With ever-growing wonder, 

Man is not all in all to ye ; 

Go with a meek and humble soul. 

Then shall the scales of self unroll 

From off your eyes, — the weary packs 

Drop from your heavy-laden backs ; 

And ye shall see. 

With reverent and hopeful eyes. 

Glowing with new-born energies, 

How great a thing it is to be ! 



30 



SONG. 

I. 
What reck I of the stars, when I 

May gaze into thine eyes, 
O'er which the brown hair flowingly 

Is parted maiden-wise 
From thy pale forehead, calm and bright, 
Over thy cheeks so rosy-white ? 

II. 
What care I for the red moon-rise ? 

Far liefer would I sit 
And watch the joy within thine eyes 

Gush up at sight of it ; 
Thyself my queenly moon shall be, 
Ruling my heart's deep tides for me I 



Jiv'. 



SONG. 31 



III. 

What heed I if the sky be blue ? 

So are thy holy eyes, 
And bright with shadows ever new 

Of changeful sympathies, 
Which in thy soul's unruffled deep 
Rest evermore, but never sleep. 



32 



THE POET. 



He who hath felt Life's mystery 

Press on him Uke thick night, 
Whose soul hath known no history 

But struggling after Hght ; — 
He who hath seen dim shapes arise 

In the soundless depths of soul, 
Which gaze on him with meaning eyes 

Full of the mighty whole, 
Yet will no word of healing speak. 

Although he pray night-long, 
" O, help me, save me ! I am weak. 

And ye are wondrous strong ! " — 
Who, in the midnight dark and deep, 

Hath felt a voice of misht 



THE POET. 33 

Come echoing through the halls of sleep 

From the lone heart of Night, 
And, starting from his restless bed. 

Hath watched and wept to know 
What meant that oracle of dread 

That stirred his being so ; — 
He who hath felt how strong and great 

This Godlike soul of man, 
And looked full in the eyes of Fate, 

Since Life and Thought began ; 
The armor of whose moveless trust 

Knoweth no spot of weakness, 
Who hath trod fear into the dust 

Beneath the feet of meekness ; — 
He who hath calmly borne his cross. 

Knowing himself the king 
Of time, nor counted it a loss 

To learn by suffering ; — 
And who hath worshipped woman still 

With a pure soul and lowly, 
3 



34 THE POET. 

Nor ever hath in deed or will 

Profaned her temple holy, — 
He is the Poet, him unto 

The gift of song is given, 
Whose life is lofty, strong, and true, 

Who never fell from Heaven ; 
He is the Poet, from his lips 

To live for evermore, 
Majestical as full-sailed ships, 

The words of Wisdom pour. 



35 



FLOWERS. 



' Haile be thou, holie hearbe, 

Growing on the ground, 
All in the mount Calvary- 
First wert thou found ; 
Thou art good for manie a sore, 
Thou healest manie a wound ; 
In the name of sweete Jesus 
I take thee from the ground." 

Ancient Charm-verse. 



I. 

When, from a pleasant ramble, home, 

Fresh-stored with quiet thoughts, I come, 

I pluck some way-side flower 

And press it in the choicest nook 

Of a much-loved and oft-read book ; 

And, when upon its leaves I look 

In a less happy hour, 

Dear memory bears me far away 

Unto her fairy bower. 

And on her breast my head I lay. 



36 FLOWERS. 

While, in a motherly, sweet strain, 
She sings me gently back again 
To by-gone feelings, until they 
Seem children born of yesterday. 

II. 
Yes, many a story of past hours 
I read in those dear withered flowers, 
And once again I seem to be 
Lying beneath the old oak tree, 
And looking up into the sky 
Through thick leaves rifted fitfully. 
Lulled by the rustling of the vine. 
Or the faint low of far-off kine ; 
And once again I seem 
To watch the whirling bubbles flee. 
Through shade and gleam alternately, 
Down the vine-bowered stream ; 
Or 'neath the odorous linden trees, 
When summer twilight lingers long, 



FLOWERS. 37 

To hear the flowing of the breeze 
And unseen insects' slumberous song, 
That mingle into one and seem 
Like dim murmurs of a dream ; 
Fair faces, too, I seem to see, 
Smiling from pleasant eyes at me, 
And voices sweet I hear. 
That, like remembered melody. 
Flow through my spirit's ear. 

III. 
A poem every flower is. 
And every leaf a line. 
And with delicious memories 
They fill this heart of mine : 
No living blossoms are so dear 
As these dead relics treasured here ; 
One tells of love, of friendship one. 
Love's quiet after-sunset time, 
When the all-dazzling light is gone, 
And, with the soul's low vesper-chime. 



38 FLOWERS. 

O'er half its heaven doth out-flow 

A holy calm and steady glow. 

Some are gay feast-songs, some are dirges, 

In some a joy with sorrow merges ; 

One sings the shadowed woods, and one the roar 

Of ocean's everlasting surges, 

Tumbling upon the beach's hard-beat floor, 

Or sliding backward from the shore 

To meet the landward waves, and slowly plunge 

once more. 
O flowers of grace, I bless ye all 
By the dear faces ye recall ! 

IV. 

Upon the banks of Life's deep streams 
Full many a flower groweth. 
Which with a wondrous fragrance teems, 
And in the silent water gleams. 
And trembles as the water floweth. 
Many a one the wave upteareth, 
Washing ever the roots away, 



FLOWERS. 39 

And far upon its bosom beareth, 

To bloom no more in Youth's glad May ; 

As farther on the river runs, 

Flowing more deep and strong, 

Only a few pale, scattered ones 

Are seen the dreary banks along ; 

And, where those flowers do not grow, 

The river floweth dark and chill, 

Its voice is sad, and with its flow 

Mingles ever a sense of ill ; 

Then, Poet, thou who gather dost 

Of Life's blest flowers the brightest, 

O, take good heed they be not lost 

While with the angry flood thou fightest ! 

V. 

In the cool grottoes of the soul, 
Whence flows thought's crystal river. 
Whence songs of joy for ever roll 
To Him who is the Giver, — 



40 FLOWERS. " 

There store thou them, where fresh and green 

Their leaves and blossoms may be seen, 

A spring of joy that faileth never ; 

There store thou them, and they shall be 

A blessing and a peace to thee, 

And in their youth and purity 

Thou shall be young for ever ! 

Then, with their fragrance rich and rare, 

Thy living shall be rife, 

Strength shall be thine thy cross to bear, 

And they shall be a chaplet fair, 

Breathing a pure and holy air, 

To crown thy holy life. 

VI. 

O Poet ! above all men blest. 
Take heed that thus thou store them ; 
Love, Hope, and Faith shall ever rest. 
Sweet birds (upon how sweet a nest !) 
Watchfully brooding o'er them. 



FLOWERB, 41 

And from those flowers of Paradise 

Scatter thou many a blessed seed, 

Wherefrom an offspring may arise 

To cheer the hearts and light the eyes 

Of after-voyagers in their need. 

They shall not fall on stony ground, 

But, yielding all their hundred-fold. 

Shall shed a peace fulness around. 

Whose strengthening joy may not be told . 

So shall thy name be blest of all. 

And thy remembrance never die ; 

For of that seed shall surely fall 

In the fair garden of Eternity. 

Exult then in the nobleness 

Of this thy work so holy. 

Yet be not thou one jot the less 

Humble and meek and lowly. 

But let thine exultation be 

The reverence of a bended knee ; 

And by thy life a poem write, 

Built strongly day by day, — 



42 FLOWERS. 

And on the rock of Truth and Right 
Its deep foundations lay. 

VII. 

It is thy DUTY ! Guard it well ! 
For unto thee hath much been given, 
And thou canst make this life a Hell, 
Or Jacob's-ladder up to Heaven. 
Let not thy baptism in Life's wave 
Make thee like him whom Homer sings, 
A sleeper in a living grave, 
Callous and hard to outward things ; 
But open all thy soul and sense 
To every blessed influence 
That from the heart of Nature springs : 
Then shall thy Life-flowers be to thee, 
When thy best years are told, 
As much as these have been to me, — 
Yea, more, a thousand -fold ! 



43 



THE LOVER. 

I. 
Go roam the world from East to West, 
Search every land beneath the sky, 
You cannot find a man so blest, 
A king so powerful as I, 
Though you should seek eternally. 

II. 
For I a gentle lover be. 
Sitting at my loved-one's side ; 
She giveth her whole soul to me 
Without a wish or thought of pride. 
And she shall be my cherished bride. / 



44 THE LOVER. 

III. 

No show of gaudiness hath she, 
She doth not flash with jewels rare ; 
In beautiful simplicity 
She weareth leafy garlands fair, 
Or modest flowers in her hair. 

IV. 

Sometimes she dons a robe of green, 
Sometimes a robe of snowy white. 
But, in whatever garb she 's seen, 
It seems most beautiful and right, 
And is the loveliest to my sight. 



Not I her lover am alone, 
Yet unto all she doth suflice, 
None jealous is, and every one 
Reads love and truth within her eyes, 
And deemeth her his own dear prize. 



THE LOVER. 45 

VI. 

And so thou art, Eternal Nature ! 
Yes, bride of Heaven, so thou art ; 
Thou wholly lovest every creature, 
Giving to each no stinted part, 
But filling every peaceful heart. 



46 



TO E. W. G. 



' Dear Child ! dear happy Girl ! if thou appear 
Heedless, — untouched with awe or serious thought, 
Thy nature is not therefore less divine : 
Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year ; 
And worship'st at the Temple's inner shrine, 
God being with thee when we know it not." 

Wordsworth. 



f As through a strip of sunny light 
A white dove flashes swiftly on, 
So suddenly before my sight 
Thou gleamed'st a moment and wert gone ; 
And yet I long shall bear in mind 
The pleasant thoughts thou left'st behind. 

Thou mad'st me happy with thine eyes, 
And happy with thine open smile, 
And, as I write, sweet memories 
Come thronging round me all the while ; 



TO E. W. G. 47 

Thou mad'st me happy with thine eyes,— 
And gentle feelings long forgot 
Looked up and oped their eyes, 
Like violets when they see a spot 
Of summer in the skies. 

Around thy playful lips did glitter 
Heat-lightnings of a girlish scorn ; 
Harmless they were, for nothing bitter 
In thy dear heart was ever born, — 
That merry heart that could not lie 
Within its warm nest quietly, 
But ever from each full, dark eye 
Was looking kindly night and morn. 

There was an archness in thine eyes 
Born of the gentlest mockeries, 
And thy light laughter rang as clear 
As water-drops I loved to hear 



48 TO E. W. G. 

In days of boyhood, as they fell 
Tinkling far down the dim, still well ; 
And with its sound came back once more 
The feelings of my early years, 
And half aloud I murmured o'er, — 
" Sure 1 have heard that voice before. 
It is so pleasant in mine ears." 

Whenever thou didst look on me 
I thought of merry birds. 
And something of spring's melody 
Came to me in thy words ; 
Thy thoughts did dance and bound along 
Like happy children in their play, 
Whose hearts run over into song 
For gladness of the summer's day ; 
And mine grew dizzy with the sight, 
Still feeling lighter and more light, 
Till, joining hands, they whirled away 
As blithe and merrily as they. 



TO E. W. G. 49 

I bound a larch-twig round with flowers, 
Which thou didst twine among thy hair, 
And gladsome were the few, short hours 
When I was with thee there ; 
So now that thou art far away, 
Safe-nestled in thy warmer clime. 
In memory of a happy day 
I twine this simple wreath of rhyme. 

Dost mind how she, whom thou dost love 
More than in light words may be said, 
A coronal of amaranth wove 
About thy duly-sobered head, 
Which kept itself a moment still 
That she might have her gentle will ? 
Thy childlike grace and purity 
O keep for evermore. 
And as thou art, still strive to be. 
That on the farther shore 
Of Time's dark waters ye may meet, 
4 



50 TO E. W. G. 

And she may twine around thy brow 

A wreath of those bright flowers that grow 

Where blessed angels set their feet ! 



51 



ISABEL. 



As the leaf upon the tree, 

Fluttering, gleaming constantly, 

Such a lightsome thing was she, 

My gay and gentle Isabel ! 

Her heart was fed with love-springs sweet, 

And in her face you 'd see it beat 

To hear the sound of welcome feet, — - 

And were not mine so, Isabel ? 

She knew it not, but she was fair, 
And like a moonbeam was her hair. 
That falls where flowing ripples are 
In summer evening, Isabel ! 
Her heart and tongue were scarce apart, 
Unwittingly her lips would part. 



52 ISABEL. 

And love come gushing from her heart, 
The woman's heart of Isabel. 

So pure her flesh-garb, and like dew. 
That in her features glimmered through 
Each working of her spirit true, 
In wondrous beauty, Isabel ! 
A sunbeam struggling through thick leaves, 
A reaper's song 'mid yellow sheaves. 
Less gladsome were ; — my spirit grieves 
To think of thee, mild Isabel ! 

I know not when I loved thee first ; 
Not loving, I had been accurst. 
Yet, having loved, my heart will burst, 
Longing for thee, dear Isabel ! 
With silent tears my cheeks are wet, 
I would be calm, I would forget. 
But thy blue eyes gaze on me yet, 
When stars have risen, Isabel ! 



ISABEL. 53 

The winds mourn for thee, Isabel, 
The flowers expect thee in the dell, 
Thy gentle spirit loved them well. 
And I for thy sake, Isabel ! 
The sunsets seem less lovely now 
Than when, leaf-checkered, on thy brow 
They fell as lovingly as thou 
Lingered'st till moon-rise, Isabel ! 

At dead of night I seem to see 
Thy fair, pale features, constantly 
Upturned in silent prayer for me. 
O'er moveless clasped hands, Isabel ! 
I call thee, thou dost not reply ; 
The stars gleam coldly on thine eye, 
As like a dream thou flittest by 
And leav'st me weeping, Isabel ! 



54 



MUSIC. 



I SEEM to lie with drooping eyes, 

Dreaming sweet dreams, 
Half longings and half memories, 

In woods where streams 
With trembling shades and whirling gleams, 
Many and bright, 
In song and light, 

Are ever, ever flowing ; 
While the wind, if we list to the rustling grass 
Which numbers his footsteps as they pass. 

Seems scarcely to be blowing ; 
And the far-heard voice of Spring 
From sunny slopes comes wandering, 
Calling the violets from the sleep. 
That bound them under the snowdrifts deep, 



MUSIC. 55 

To open their childlike, asking eyes 

On the new summer's paradise. 

And mingled with the gurgling waters, — 

As the dreamy witchery 
Of Acheloiis' silver-voiced daughters 

Rose and fell with the heaving sea, 

Whose great heart swelled with ecstasy, — 
The song of many a floating bird, 

Winding through the rifted trees, 
Is dreamily half-heard, — 

A sister stream of melodies 
Rippled by the flutterings 
Of rapture-quivered wings. 

II. 
And now beside a cataract 
I lie, and through my soul. 
From over me and under. 
The never-ceasing thunder 
Arousingly doth roll ; 



56 MUSIC. 

Through the darkness all compact, 
Through the trackless sea of gloom, 
Sad and deep I hear it boom ; 
At intervals the cloud is cracked 
And a livid flash doth hiss 

Downward from its floating home, 
Lighting up the precipice 

And the never-resting foam 
With a dim and ghastly glare, 
Which, for a heart-beat, in the air. 
Shows the sweeping shrouds 
Of the midnight clouds 
And their wildly-scattered hair. 

III. 
Now listening to a woman's tone, 
In a wood I sit alone, — 
Alone because our souls are one ; — 
All around my heart it flows, 
Lulling me in deep repose ; 



MUSIC. 57 

I fear to speak, I fear to move, 
Lest I should break the spell I love, — ' 
Low and gentle, calm and clear, 
Into my inmost soul it goes, 

As if my brother dear. 

Who is no longer here. 

Had bended from the sky 

And murmured in my ear 
A strain of that high harmony. 

Which they may sing alone 

Who worship round the throne. 

IV. 

Now in a fairy boat, 

On the bright waves of song. 
Full merrily I float. 

Merrily float along ; 
My helm is veered, I care not how. 

My white sail bellies over me, 

And bright as gold the ripples be 
That plash beneath the bow ; 



58 MUSIC. 

Before, behind, 
They feel the wind, 
And they are dancing joyously, — 
While, faintly heard, along the far-off shore 
The surf goes plunging with a lingering roar ; 
Or anchored in a shadowy cove, 
Entranced with harmonies, 
Slowly I sink and rise 
As the slow waves of music move. 

V. 

Now softly dashing. 
Bubbling, plashing. 
Mazy, dreamy. 
Faint and streamy. 
Ripples into ripples melt. 
Not so strongly heard as felt ; 
Now rapid and quick. 
While the heart beats thick, 



MUSIC. 59 

The music's silver wavelets crowd, 
Distinct and clear, but never loud ; 
And now all solemnly and slow. 
In mild, deep tones they warble low, 
Like the glad song of angels, when 
They sang good will and peace to men ; 
Now faintly heard and far. 

As if the spirit's ears 
Had caught the anthem of a star 

Chanting with his brother-spheres 
In the midnight dark and deep, 
When the body is asleep 
And wondrous shadows pour in streams 
From the twofold gate of dreams ; 
Now onward roll the billows, swelling 
With a tempest-sound of might, 
As of voices doom foretelling 

To the silent ear of Night ; 
And now a. mingled ecstasy 

Of all sweet sounds it is ; — 



60 MUSIC. 

O ! who may tell the agony 
Of rapture such as this ? 

VI. 

I have drunk of the drink of immortals, 

I have drunk of the life-giving wine, 
And now I may pass the bright portals 

That open into a realm divine ! 
I have drunk it through mine ears 

In the ecstasy of song. 
When mine eyes would fill with tears 

That its life were not more long ; 
I have drunk it through mine eyes 

In beauty's every shape. 
And now around my soul it lies, 

No juice of earthly grape 
Wings ! wings are given to me, 

I can flutter, I can rise, 
Like a new life gushing through me 

Sweep the heavenly harmonies ! 



61 



SONG. 



O ! I must look on that sweet face once more before 

I die ; 
God grant that it may lighten up with joy when I 

draw nigh ; 
God grant that she may look on me as kindly as she 

seems 
In the long night, the restless night, i' the sunny 

land of dream.s ! 

I hoped, I thought, she loved me once, and yet, I 

know not why. 
There is a coldness in her speech, and a coldness in 

ther eye, 



62 SONG. 

Something that in another's look would not seem 

cold to me, 
And yet like ice I feel it chill the heart of memory. 

She does not come to greet me so frankly as she did, 
And in her utmost openness I feel there 's something 

hid; 
She almost seems to shun me, as if she thought 

that I 
Might win her gentle heart again to feelings long 

gone by. 

I sought the first spring-buds for her, the fairest and 

the best. 
And she wore them for their loveliness upon her 

spotless breast, 
The blood-root and the violet, the frail anemone. 
She wore them, and alas ! I deemed it was for love 

of me ! 



SONG. 63 

As flowers in a darksome place stretch forward to 

the light, 
So to the memory of her I turn by day and night ; 
As flowers in a darksome place grow thin and pale 

and wan, 
So is it with my darkened heart, now that her light 

is gone. 

The thousand little things that love doth treasure up 

for aye. 
And brood upon with moistened eyes when she that 's 

loved 's away, 
The word, the look, the smile, the blush, the ribbon 

that she wore. 
Each day they grow more dear to me, and pain me 

more and m.ore. 

My face I cover with my hands, and bitterly I weep, 
That the quick-gathering sands of life should choke 
a love so deep. 



64 SONG. 

And that the stream, so pure and bright, must turn 

it from its track. 
Or to the heart-springs, whence it rose, roll its full 

waters back ! 

As calm as doth the lily float close by the lakelet's brim, 

So calm and spotless, down time's stream, her peace- 
ful days did swim. 

And I had longed, and dreamed, and prayed, that 
closely by her side, 

Down to a haven still and sure, my happy life might 
glide. 

But now, alas ! those golden days of youth and hope 
are o'er. 

And I must dream those dreams of joy, those guilt- 
less dreams no more ; 

Yet there is something in my heart that whispers 
ceaselessly, 

" Would God that I might see that face once more 
before I die ! " 



I 



65 



lANTHE. 



There is a light within her eyes 
Like gleams of wandering fire-flies ; 
From light to shade it leaps and moves 
Whenever in her soul arise 
The holy shapes of things she loves ; 
Fitful it shines and changes ever, 
Like star-lit ripples on a river, 
Or summer sunshine on the eaves 
Of silver-trembling poplar leaves. 
Where the lingering dew-drops quiver. 
I may not tell the blessedness 
Her mild eyes send to mine, 
The sunset-tinted haziness 
Of their mysterious shine, 
5 



66 lANTHE. 

The dim and holy moiirnfulness 

Of their mellow light divine ; j 

The shadows of the lashes lie 

Over them so lovingly, 

That they seem to melt away 

In a doubtful twilight-gray, 

While I watch the stars arise 

In the evening of her eyes. 

I love it, yet I almost dread 

To think what it foreshadoweth ; 

And, when I muse how I have read 

That such strange light betokened death, — i 

'I 
Instead of fire-fly gleams, I see *! 

Wild corpse-lights gliding waveringly. 

II. 
With wayward thoughts her eyes are brigl^t) 
Like shiftings of the northern-light, 
Hither, thither, swiftly glance they, ; 

In a mazy twining dance they, 



lANTIlE. jg7 

Like ripply lights the sunshine weaves, 
Thrown backward from a shaken nook, 
Below some tumbling water-brook, 
On the o'erarching platan-leaves. 
All through her glowing face they flit, 
And rest in their deep dwelling-place, 
Those fathomless blue eyes of hers. 
Till, from her burning soul re-lit. 
While her upheaving bosom stirs. 
They stream again across her face 
And with such hope and glory fill it. 
Death could not have the heart to chili it- 
Yet when their wild light fades again, 
I feel a sudden sense of pain, 
As if, while yet her eyes were gleaming. 
And like a shower of sun-lit rain 
Bright fancies from her face were streaming. 
Her trembling soul might flit away 
As swift and suddenly as they. 



68 lANTHE. 

III. 

A wild, inspired earnestness 

Her inmost being fills, 
An eager self-forgetfulness. 

That speaks not what it wills. 
But what unto her soul is given, 
A living oracle from Heaven, 
Which scarcely in her breast is born 
When on her trembling lips it thrills, 
And, like a burst of golden skies 
Through storm-clouds on a sudden torn. 
Like a glory of the morn, 
Beams marvellously from her eyes. 
And then, like a Spring-swollen river. 

Roll the deep waves of her full-hearted thought 
Crested with sun-lit spray, 
Her v/ild lips curve and quiver. 

And my rapt soul, on the strong tide upcaught, 
Unwittingly is borne away. 
Lulled by a dreamful music ever. 
Far, — through the solemn twilight gray 



lANTHE. 69 

Of hoary woods, — through valleys green 

Which the trailing vine embowers, 
And where the purple-clustered grapes are seen 
Deep-glowing through rich clumps of waving 
flowers, — 

Now over foaming rapids swept 

And with maddening rapture shook, — 
Now gliding where the water-plants have slept 

For ages in a moss-rimmed nook, — 

Enwoven by a wild-eyed band 
Of earth-forgetting dreams, 

I float to a delicious land 

By a sunset heaven spanned. 
And musical with streams ; — 

Around, the calm, majestic forms 
And god-like eyes of early Greece I see. 

Or listen, till my spirit warms. 

To songs of courtly chivalry, 
Or weep, unmindful if my tears be seen. 
For the meek, suffering love of poor Undine, 



i 



70 lANTHE. 

IV. 

Her thoughts are never memories, 
But ever changeful, ever new, 
^ Fresh and beautiful as dew 
That in a dell at noontide lies, 
Or, at the close of summer day, 
T|ie pleasant breath of new-mown hay : 
Swiftly they come and pass 
As golden birds across the sun. 
As light-gleams on tall meadow-grass 
Which the wind just breathes upon. 
And when she speaks, her eyes I see 

Down-gushing through their silken lattices, 
Like stars that quiver tremblingly 
Through leafy branches of the trees, 
And her pale cheeks do flush and glow 
With speaking flashes bright and rare 

As crimson North-lights on new-fallen snow. 
From out the veiling of her hair, — 



lANTHE. 71 

Her careless hair that scatters down 

On either side her eyes, 
A waterfall leaf-tinged with brown 

And lit with the sunrise. 

V. 

When first I saw her, not of earth, 
But heavenly both in grief and mirth, 
I thought her ; she did seem / 

As fair and full of mystery, 
As bodiless, as forms we see 
In the rememberings of a dream ; 
A moon-lit mist, a strange, dim light, 
Circled her spirit from my sight ; — 
Each day more beautiful she grew, 

More earthly every day. 
Yet that mysterious, moony hue 

Faded not all away ; 
She has a sister's sympathy 
With all the wanderers of the sky» 



72 lANTHE. 

But most I 've seen her bosom stir 

When moonlight round her fell, 
For the mild moon it loveth her, 

She loveth it as well, 
And of their love perchance this grace 
Was born into her wondrous face. 
I cannot tell how it may be, 
For both, methinks, can scarce be true, 
Still, as she earthly grew to me. 
She grew more heavenly too ; 

She seems one born in Heaven 
With earthly feelings, 

For, while unto her soul are given 
More pure revealings 

Of holiest love and truth. 
Yet is the mildness of her eyes 
Made up of quickest sympathies 

Of kindliness and ruth ; 
So, though some shade of awe doth stir 
Our souls for one so far above us, 



lANTHE. 73 

We feel secure that she will love us, 
And cannot keep from loving her. 
She is a poem, which to me 
In speech and look is written bright. 
And to her life's rich harmony 
Doth ever sing itself aright ; 
Dear, glorious creature ! 
With eyes so dewy bright, 

And tenderest feeling 

Itself revealing 
In every look and feature, 
Welcome as a homestead light 
To one long-wandering in a clouded night ; 
O, lovelier for her woman's weakness, 

Which yet is strongly mailed 
In armor of courageous meekness 

And faith that never failed ! 



74 lANTHE. 

VI. 

Early and late, at her soul's gate, 
Sits Chastity in wardervvise. 
No thought unchallenged, small or great, 
Goes thence into her eyes ; 
Nor may a low, unworthy thought 
Beyond that virgin warder win. 
Nor one, whose password is not " ought," 
May go without or enter in. 
I call her, seeing those pure eyes, 
The Eve of a new Paradise, 
Which she by gentle word and deed. 
And look no less, doth still create 
About her, for her great thoughts breed 
A calm that lifts us from our fallen state, 
And makes us while with her both good and great, 
Nor is their memory wanting in our need : 
With stronger loving, every hour, 
Turneth my heart to this frail flower, 
Which, thoughtless of the world, hath grown 



iantHe. 75 

To beauty and meek gentleness, 
Here in a fair world of its own, — 
By woman's instinct trained alone, — 
A lily fair which God did bless, 
And which from Nature's heart did draw 
Love, wisdom, peace, and Heaven's perfect law. 



76 



LOVE'S ALTAR. 

I. 
I BUILT an altar in my soul, 
I builded it to one alone ; 
And ever silently I stole, 
In happy days of long-agone. 
To make rich offerings to that one. 

II. 

'T was garlanded with purest thought, 
And crowned with fancy's flowers bright, 
With choicest gems 't was all inwrought 
Of truth and feeling ; in my sight 
It seemed a spot of cloudless light. 



LOVE'S ALTAR. 77 

III. 

Yet when I made my offering there, 
Like Cain's, the incense would not rise ; 
Back on my heart down-sank the prayer, 
And altar-stone and sacrifice 
Grew hateful in my tear-dimmed eyes. 

IV. 

O'er-grown with age's mosses green. 
The little altar firmly stands ; 
It is not, as it once hath been, 
A selfish shrine ; — these time-taught hands 
Bring incense now from many lands. 

V. 

Knowledge doth only widen love ; 
The stream, that lone and narrow rose. 
Doth, deepening ever, onward move. 
And with an even current flows 
Calmer and calmer to the close. 



78 LOVE'S ALTAR, 

VI. 

The love, that in those early days 
Girt round my spirit as a wall, 
Hath faded like a morning haze, 
And flames, unpent by self's mean thrall, 
Rise clearly to the perfect all. 



79 



MY LOVE. 

I. 

Not as all other women are 
Is she that to my soul is dear; 
Her glorious fancies come from far 
Beneath the silver evening-star, 
And yet her heart is ever near. 

II. 
Great feelings hath she of her own 
Which lesser souls may never know ; 
God giveth them to her alone, 
And sweet they are as any tone 
Wherewith the wind may choose to blow. 



80 MY LOVE. 

IIT. 

Yet in herself she dwelleth not, 
Although no home were half so fair ; 
No simplest duty is forgot, 
Life hath no dim and lowly spot 
That doth not in her sunshine share. 

IV. 

She doeth little kindnesses. 
Which most leave undone, or despise ; 
For nought that sets one heart at ease. 
And giveth happiness or peace. 
Is low-esteemed in her eyes. 

V. 

She hath no scorn of com.mon things. 
And, though she seem of other birth. 
Round us her heart entwines and clings. 
And patiently she folds her wings 
To tread the humble paths of life. 



MY LOVE. 81 

VI. 

Blessing she is : God made her so, 
And deeds of week-day holiness 
Fall from her noiseless as the snow, 
Nor hath she ever chanced to know 
That aught were easier than to bless. 

VII. 

She is most fair, and thereunto 
Her life doth rightly harmonize ; 
Feeling or thought that was not true 
Ne'er made less beautiful the blue ^ 
Unclouded heaven of her eyes. 

/ 

VIII. 

On Nature she doth muse and brood 
With such a still and love-clear eye, — 
She is so gentle and so good, — 
The very flowers in the wood 
Do bless her with their sympathy. 
6 



82 MY LOVE. 

IX. 

She is a woman : one in whom 
The spring-time of her childish years 
Hath never lost its fresh perfume, 
Though knowing well that life hath room 
For many blights and m.any tears. 

X. 

And youth in her a home will find, 
Where he may dwell eternally ; 
Her soul is not of that weak kind 
Which better love the life behind 
Than that which is, or is to be. 

XI. 

I love her with a love as still 
As a broad river's peaceful might, 
Which, by high tower and lowly mill, 
Goes wandering at its own will. 
And yet doth ever flow aright. 



MY LOVE. 83 

XII. 

And, on its full, deep breast serene. 
Like quiet isles my duties lie ; 
It flows around them and between, 
And makes them fresh and fair and green, 
Sweet homes wherein to live and die. 



84 



WITH A PRESSED FLOWER. 



This little flower from afar 
Hath come from other lands to thine ; 
For, once, its white and drooping star 
Could see its shadow in the Rhine. 

Perchance some fair-haired German maid 
Hath plucked one from the self-same stalk, 
And numbered over, half afraid, 
Its petals in her evening walk. 

" He loves me, loves me not," she cries ; | 
" He loves me more than earth or Heaven ! "^ 
And then glad tears have filled her eyes 
To find the number was uneven. 



WITH A PRESSED FLOWER. 85 

So, Love, my heart doth wander forth 
To farthest lands beyond the sea, 
And search the fairest spots of earth 
To find sweet flowers of thought for thee. 

A type this tiny blossom is 
Of what my heart doth every day, 
Seeking for pleasant fantasies 
To brood upon when thou 'rt away. 

And thou must count its petals well. 
Because it is a gift from me ; 
And the last one of all shall tell 
Something I 've often told to thee. 

But here at home, where we were born. 
Thou wilt find flowers just as true, 
Down-bending every summer morn 
With freshness of New-England dew. 



86 WITH A PRESSED FLOWER. 

For Nature, ever right in love, 
Hath given them the same sweet tongue. 
Whether with German skies above, 
Or here our granite rocks among. 



87 



IMPARTIALITY. 

I. 

I CANNOT say a scene is fair 
Because it is beloved of thee, 
Bat I shall love to linger there, 
For sake of thy dear memory ; 
I would not be so coldly just 
As to love only what I must. 

II. 
I cannot say a thought is good 
Because thou foundest joy in it ; 
Each soul must choose its proper food 
Which Nature hath decreed most fit ; 
But I shall ever deem it so 
Because it made thy heart o'erflow. 



88 IMPARTIALITY. 

III. 

I love thee for that thou art fair ; 
And that thy spirit joys in aught 
Createth a new beauty there, 
With thine own dearest image fraught ; 
And love, for others' sake that springs, 
Gives half their charm to lovely things. 



89 



BELLEROPHON. 

DEDICATED TO MY FRIEND, JOHN T. HEATH. 
I. 

I FEEL the bandages unroll 

That bound my inward seeing ; 
Freed are the bright wings of my soul, 

Types of my god-like being ; 
High thoughts are swelling in my heart 

And rushing through my brain ; 
May I never more lose part 

In my soul's realm again ! 
All things fair, where'er they be, 
In earth or air, in sky or sea, 
I have loved them all, and taken 
All within my throbbing breast ; 
No more my spirit can be shaken 
From its calm and kingly rest ! 



90 BELLEROPHON. 

Love hath shed its light around me, 
Love hath pierced the shades that bound mc 
Mine eyes are opened, I can see 
The universe's mystery, 

The mighty heart and core 

Of After and Before 
I see, and I am weak no more ! 

II. 

Upward ! upward evermore. 
To Heaven's open gate I soar ! 
Little thoughts are far behind mo. 
Which, when custom weaves together. 
All the nobler man can tether, — 
Cobwebs now no more can bind me ! 
Now fold thy wings a little while, 

My tranced soul, and lie 
At rest on this Calypso-isle 

That floats in mellow sky ; 
A thousand isles with gentle motion 
Rock upon the sunset ocean ; 



BELLEROPHON. 91 

A thousand isles of thousand hues, 

How bright ! how beautiful ! how rare ! 

Into my spirit they infuse 

A purer, a diviner air ; 

The earth is growing dimmer, 

And now the last faint glimmer 

Hath faded from the hill ; 
But in my higher atmosphere 
The sun-light streameth red and clear, 

Fringing the islets still ; — 
Love lifts us to the sun-light. 
Though the whole world be dark ; 
Love, wide Love, is the one light, 
All else is but a fading spark ; 
Love is the nectar which doth fill 
Our soul's cup even to overflowing. 
And, warming heart, and thought, and will, 
Doth lie within us mildly glowing. 
From its own centre raying out 
Beauty and Truth on all without. 



92 BELLEROPHON. 

III. 

Each on his golden throne, 
Full royally, alone, 
I see the stars above me 
With sceptre and with diadem ; 
Mildly they look down and love me, 
For I have ever yet loved them. 
I see their ever-sleepless eyes 
Watching the growth of destinies ; 

Calm, sedate. 

The eyes of Fate, 
They wink not, nor do roll. 
But search the depths of soul, — 
And in those mighty depths they see 
The germs of all Futurity, 
Waiting but the fitting time 
To burst and ripen into prime. 
As in the womb of mother Earth 
The seeds of plants and forests lie 
Age upon age and never die, — 



BELLEROPHON. 93 

So in the souls of all men wait 

Undyingly the seeds of Fate ; 

Chance breaks the clod, and forth they spring, 

Filling blind men with wondering. 

Eternal stars ! with holy awe, 

As if a present God I saw, 

I look into those mighty eyes 

And see great destinies arise, 

As in those of mortal men 

Feelings glow and fade agen ! 

All things below, all things above, 

Are open to the eyes of Love. 

IV. 

Of Knowledge Love is master-key, 
Knowledge of Beauty ; passing dear 
Is each to each, and mutually 
Each one doth make the other clear ; 
Beauty is Love, and what we love 
Straightway is beautiful, 



94 BELLEROPHON. 

So is the circle round and full, 

And so dear Love doth live and move 

And have his being, 
Finding his proper food, 

By sure inseeing, 
In all things pure and good, 
Which he at will doth cull, 
Like a joyous butterfly 
Hiving in the sunny bowers 
Of the soul's fairest flowers. 
Or, between the earth and sky. 
Wandering at liberty 
For happy, happy hours ! 

V. 

The thoughts of Love are Poesy, 
As this fair earth and all we see 
Are the thoughts of Deity, — 
And Love is ours by our birthright ! 
He hath cleared mine inward sight ; 



BELLEROPIION. 95 

Glorious shapes with glorious eyes 

Round about my spirit glance, 

Shedding a mild and golden light 

On the shadowy face of Night ; 

To unearthly melodies, 

Hand in hand, they weave their dance. 

While a deep, ambrosial lustre 

From their rounded limbs doth shine, 
Through many a rich and golden cluster 

Of streaming hair divine. 
In our gross and earthly hours 
We cannot see the Love-given powers 
Which ever round the soul await 

To do its sovereign will. 
When, in its moments calm and still. 
It re-assumes its royal state. 
Nor longer sits with eyes down-cast, 
A beggar, dreaming of the past. 
At its own palace-gate. 



96 BELLEROPHON. 

VI. 

I too am a Maker and Poet ; 
Through my whole soul I feel it and know it 
My veins are fired with ecstasy ! 

All-mother Earth 

Did ne'er give birth 
To one who shall be matched with me; 
The lustre of my coronal 
Shall cast a dimness over all : — 
Alas ! alas ! what have I spoken ? 
My strong, my eagle wings are broken, 
And back again to earth I fall ! 



97 



SOMETHING NATURAL. 



When first I saw thy soul-deep eyes, 
My heart yearned to thee instantly, 
Strange longing in my soul did risQ ; 
I cannot tell the reason why, 
But I must love thee till I die. 

II. 
The sight of thee hath well nigh grown 
As needful to. me as the light ; 
I am uftj?estful when alone. 
And my heart doth not beat aright 
Except it dwelb within thy sight., 
7 



98 SOMETHING NATURAL, 

III. 

And yet, — and yet, — O selfish love ! 
I am not happy even with thee ; 
I see thee in thy brighteess move, 
And cannot well-contented be, 
Save thou should'st shkie alone for me. 

IV. 

We should love beauty even as flowers, ■ 
For all, 't is said, they bud and blow. 
They are the world's as well as ours, — 
But thou, — alas ! God made thee grow 
So fair, I cannot love thee so ! 



99 



THE SYRENS. 



The sea is lonely, the sea is dreary, 
The sea is restless and uneasy ; 
Thou seekest quiet, thou art weary. 
Wandering thou knowest not whither ; — 
Our little isle is green and breezy. 
Come and rest thee ! O come hither ! 
Come to this peaceful home of ours, 

Where evermore 
The low west-wind creeps panting up the shore 
To he at rest among the flowers ; 
Full of rest, the green moss lifts, 

As the dark waves of the sea 
Draw in and out of rocky rifts, 

Calling solemnly to thee 



100 THE SYRENS. 

With voices deep and hollow, — 

" To the shore 
Follow ! O follow ! 
To be at rest for evermore ! 

For evermore ! " 

Look how the gray, old Ocean 
From the depth of his heart rejoices, 
Heaving with a gentle motion. 
When he hears our restful voices ; 
List how he sings in an undertone. 
Chiming with our melody ; 
And all sweet sounds of earth and air 
Melt into one low voice alone, 
That murmurs over the weary sea, — 
And seems to sing from everywhere, — 
" Here mayest thou harbour peacefully. 
Here mayest thou rest from the aching oar ; 

Turn thy curved prow ashore. 
And in our green isle rest for evermore ! 
For evermore ! " 



THE SYRENS. 101 

And Echo half wakes in the wooded hill, 
And, to her heart so calm and deep, 
Murmurs over in her sleep, 
Doubtfully pausing and murmuring still, 
" Evermore ! " 

Thus, on Life's weary sea, 
Heareth the marinere 
Voices sweet, from far and near, 
Ever singing low and clear. 
Ever singing longingly. 

Is it not better here to be. 
Than to be toiling late and soon .? 
In the dreary night to see 
Nothing but the blood-red moon 
Go up and down into the sea ; 
Or, in the loneliness of day. 

To see the still seals only 
Solemnly lift their faces gray. 

Making it yet more lonely ? 



10^ THE SYRENS. 

Is it not better, than to hear 

Only the sliding of the wave 

Beneath the plank, and feel so near 

A cold and lonely grave, 

A restless grave, where thou shalt lie 

Even in death unquietly ? 

Look down beneath thy wave -worn bark. 

Lean over the side and see 
The leaden eye of the side-long shark 
Upturned patiently. 

Ever waiting there for thee : 
Look down and see those shapeless forms, 

Which ever keep their dreamless sleep 

Far down within the gloomy deep, 
And only stir themselves in storms, 
Rising like islands from beneath. 
And snorting through the angry spray. 
As the frail vessel perisheth 
In the whirls of their unwieldy play ; 
Look down ! Look down ! 



THE SYRENS. 103 

Upon the seaweed, slimy and dark, 
That waves its arms so lank and brown. 

Beckoning for thee ! 
Look down beneath thy wave-worn bark 
Into the cold depth of the sea ! 
Look down ! Look down ! 

Thus, on Life's lonely sea, 
Heareth the marinere 
Voices sad, from far and near, 
Ever singing full of fear. 
Ever singing drearfuUy. 

Here all is pleasant as a dream ; 
The wind scarce shaketh down the dew, 
The green grass floweth like a stream 
Into the ocean's blue : 
Listen ! O listen ! 
Here is a gush of many streams, 

A song of many birds. 
And every wish and longing seems 
Lulled to a numbered flow of words, — 



104 THE SYRENS. 

Listen ! O listen ! 
Here ever hum the golden bees 
Underneath full-blossomed trees, 
At once with glowing fruit and flowers crowned ; — 
The sand is so smooth, the yellow sand, 
That thy keel will not grate, as it touches the land; 
All around, with a slumberous sound. 
The singing waves slide up the strand. 
And there, where the smooth, wet pebbles be. 
The waters gurgle longingly. 
As if they fain would seek the shore. 
To be at rest from the ceaseless roar. 
To be at rest for evermore, — ^ 
For evermore. 

Thus, on Life's gloomy sea, 

Heareth the marinere 

Voices sweet, from far and near, 

Ever singing in his ear, 

" Here is rest and peace for thee ! " 

Nantasket, July, 1840. 



105 



A FEELING. 



The flowers and the grass to me 

Are eloquent reproachfully ; 

For would they wave so pleasantly 

Or look so fresh and fair, 

If a man cunning, hollow, mean, 

Or one in anywise unclean. 

Were looking on them there ? 

No ; he hath grown so foolish-wise 
He cannot see with childhood's eyes ; 
He hath forgot that purity 
And lowliness which are the key 
Of Nature's mysteries ; 
No ; he hath wandered off so long 



106 A FEELING. 

From his own place of birth, 
That he hath lost his mother-tongue, 
And, like one come from far-off lands. 
Forgetting and forgot, he stands 
Beside his mother's hearth. 



107 



THE BEGGAR. 



A BEGGAR through the world am I, 
From place to place I wander by ; — 
Fill up my pilgrim's scrip for me, 
For Christ's sweet sake and charity ! 

A little of thy steadfastness, 
Rounded with leafy gracefulness, 
Old oak, give me, — 

That the world's blasts may round me blow, 
And I yield gently to and fro. 
While my stout-hearted trunk below 
And firm-set roots unmoved be. 



108 THE BEGGAR. 

Some of thy stern, unyielding might, 
Enduring still through day and night 
Rude tempest-shock and withering blight, - 
That I may keep at bay 
The changeful April sky of chance 
And the strong tide of circumstance, — 
Give me, old granite gray. 

Some of thy mournfulness serene, 
Some of thy never-dying green, 
Put in this scrip of mine, — 
That griefe may fall like snowflakes light. 
And deck me in a robe of white. 
Ready to be an angel bright, — 
O sweetly-mournful pine. 

A little of thy merriment. 
Of thy sparkling, light content. 
Give me, my cheerful brook, — 
That I may still be full of glee 



THE BEGGAR. 109 

And gladsomeness, where'er I be, 
Though fickle fate hath prisoned me 
In some neglected nook. 

Ye have been very kind and good 
To me, since I 've been in the wood ; 
Ye have gone nigh to fill my heart ; 
But good bye, kind friends, every one, 
I 've far to go ere set of sun ; 
Of all good things I would have part, 
The day was high ere I could start, 
And so my journey 's scarce begun. 

Heaven help me ! how could I forget 
To beg of thee, dear violet ! 
Some of thy modesty. 
That flowers here as well, unseen. 
As if before the world thou 'dst been, 
O give, to strengthen me. 



no 



SERENADE. 



From the close-shut windows gleams no spark, 
The night is chilly, the night is dark, 
The poplars shiver, the pine-trees moan, 
My hair by the autumn breeze is blown, 
Under thy window I sing alone, 
Alone, alone, ah woe ! alone ! 

The darkness is pressing coldly around, 
The windows shake with a lonely sound, 
The stars are hid and the night is drear, 
The heart of silence throbs in thine ear, 
In thy chamber thou sittest alone. 
Alone, alone, ah woe ! alone ! 



SERENADE. HI 

The world is happy, the world is wide, 
Kind hearts are beating on every side ; 
Ah, why should we lie so curled 
Alone in the shell of this great world ? 
Why should we any more be alone ? 
Alone, alone, ah woe ! alone ! 

O ! 't is a bitter and dreary word. 
The saddest by man's ear ever heard ; 
We each are young, we each have a heart, 
Why stand we ever coldly apart ? 
Must we for ever, then, be alone ? 
Alone, alone, ah woe ! alone ! 



112 



iRENi:. 



Her's is a spirit deep and crystal-clear ; 
Calmly beneath her earnest face it lies, 
Free without boldness, meek without a fear. 
Quicker to look than speak its sympathies ; 
Far down into her large and patient eyes 
I gaze, deep-drinking of the infinite, 
As, in the mid-watch of a clear, still night, 
I look into the fathomless blue skies. 

So circled lives she with Love's holy light. 
That from the shade of self she walketh free ; 
The garden of her soul still keepeth she 
An Eden where the snake did never enter; 
She hath a natural, wise sincerity. 



IRENE, 113 

A simple truthfulness, and these have lent her 
A dignity as moveless as the centre ; 
So that no influence of earth can stir 
Her steadfast courage, or can take away 
The holy peacefulness, which, night and day, 
Unto her queenly soul doth minister. 

Most gentle is she ; her large charity 
(An all unwitting, childlike gift in her) 
Not freer is to give than meek to bear ; 
And, though herself not unacquaint with care, 
Hath in her heart wide room for all that be, — 
Her heart that hath no secrets of its own. 
But open is as eglantine full-blown. 
Cloudless for ever is her brow serene, 
Speaking calm hope and trust within her, whence 
Welleth a noiseless spring of patience 
That keepeth all her life so fresh, so green 
And full of holiness, that every look. 
The greatness of her woman's soul revealing. 



114 IRENE. 

Unto me bringeth blessing, and a feeling 
As when I read in God's own holy book. 

A graciousness in giving that doth make 
The smallest gift greatest, and a sense most meek 
Of worthiness, that doth not fear to take 
From others, but which always fears to speak 
Its thanks in utterance, for the giver's sake ; — 
The deep religion of a thankful heart, 
Which rests instinctively in Heaven's law 
With a full peace, that never can depart 
From its own steadfastness ; — a holy awe 
For holy things, not those which men call holy. 
But such as are revealed to the eyes 
Of a true woman's soul bent down and lowly 
Before the face of daily mysteries ; — 
A love that blossoms soon, but ripens slowly 
To the full goldenness of fruitful prime. 
Enduring with a firmness that defies 
All shallow tricks of circumstance and time. 



IRENE. 115 

By a sure insight knowing where to chng, 
And where it clingeth never withering, — 
These are Irene's dowry, — which no fate 
Can shake from their serene, deep-builded state. 

In-seeing sympathy is hers, which chasteneth 
No less than loveth, scorning to be bound 
With fear of blame, and yet which ever hasteneth 
To pour the balm of kind looks on the wound, 
If they be wounds which such sweet teaching makes. 
Giving itself a pang for others' sakes ; 
No want of faith, that chills with side-long eye, 
Hath she ; no jealousy, no Levite pride 
That passeth by upon the other side ; 
For in her soul there never dwelt a lie. 
Right from the hand of God her spirit came 
Unstained, and she hath ne'er forgotten whence 
It came, nor wandered far from thence, 
But laboreth to keep her still the same, 
Near to her place of birth, that she may not 
Soil her white raiment with an earthly spot. 



116 IRENE. 

Yet sets she not her soul so steadily- 
Above, that she forgets her ties to earth, 
But her whole thought would almost seem to be 
How to make glad one lowly human hearth ; 
For with a gentle courage she doth strive 
In thought and word and feeling so to live 
As to make earth next Heaven ; and her heart 
Herein doth show its most exceeding worth. 
That, bearing in our frailty her just part. 
She hath not shrunk from evils of this life. 
But hath gone calmly forth into the strife. 
And all its sins and sorrows hath withstood 
With lofty strength of patient womanhood : 
For this I love her great soul more than all, 
That, being bound, like us, with earthly thrall. 
She walks so bright and Heaven-wise therein, — 
Too wise, too meek, too womanly to sin. 

Exceeding pleasant to mine eyes is she : 
Like a lone star through riven storm-clouds seen 



IRENE. 117 

By sailors, tempest-tost upon the sea, 
Telling of rest and peaceful heavens nigh, 
Unto my soul her star-like soul hath been. 
Her sight as full of hope and calm to me ; -^ 
For she unto herself hath builded high 
A home serene, wherein to lay her head, 
Earth's noblest thing, — a Woman perfected. 



118 



THE LOST CHILD. 



I WANDERED down a sunny glade 
And ever mused, my love, of thee ; 

My thoughts, like little children, played, 
As gaily and as guilelessly. 

II. 
If any chanced to go astray, 

Moaning in fear of coming harms, 
Hope brought the wanderer back alway. 

Safe-nestled in her snowy arms. 

III. 
From that soft nest the happy one 
Looked up at me and calmly smiled ; 



THE LOST CHILD. ' 119 

Its hair shone golden in the sun, 
And made it seem a heavenly child. 

IV. 

Dear Hope's blue eyes smiled mildly down, 
And blest it with a love so deep, 

That, like a nursling of her own, 
It clasped her neck and fell asleep. 



120 



THE CHURCH. 

I. 

I LOVE the rites of England's church, 

I love to hear and see 
The priest and people reading slow 

The solemn Litany ; 
I love to hear the glorious swell 

Of chanted psalm and prayer, 
And the deep organ's bursting heart 

Throb through the shivering air. 

II. 
Chants, that a thousand years have heard, 

I love to hear again. 
For visions of the olden time 

Are wakened by the strain ; 



THE CHURCH. 121 

With gorgeous hues the window-glass 

Seems suddenly to glow, 
And rich and red the streams of light 

Down through the chancel flow. 

III. 
And then I murmur, " Surely God 

Delighteth here to dwell ; 
This is the temple of his Son 

Whom he doth love so well ; " 
But, when I hear the creed which saith, 

This church alone is His, 
I feel within my soul that He 

Hath purer shrines than this. 

IV. 

For his is not the builded church, 

Nor organ-shaken dome ; 
In every thing that lovely is 

He loves and hath his home ; 



122 THE CHURCH. 

And most in soul that loveth well 
All things which he hath made, 

Knowing no creed but simple faith 
That may not be gainsaid. 

V. 

His church is universal Love, 

And whoso dwells therein 
Shall need no customed sacrifice 

To wash away his sin ; 
And music in its aisles shall swell 

Of lives upright and true, 
Sweet as dreamed sounds of angel-harps 

Down-quivering through the blue. 

VI. 

They shall not ask a litany, 
The souls that worship there. 

But every look shall be a hymn. 
And every word a prayer ; 



THE CHURCH. 123 

Their service shall be written bright 

In calm and holy eyes, 
And every day from fragrant hearts 

Fit incense shall arise. 



124 



THE UNLOVELY. 



The pretty things that others wear 
Look strange and out of place on me, 
I never seem Pressed tastefully, 

Because I am not fair ; 
And, when I would most pleasing seem, 
And deck myseli with joyful care, 
I find it is an idle dream. 

Because I am not fair. 

If I put roses in my hair. 
They bloom as if in mockery ; 
Nature denies her sympathy. 

Because I am not fair ; 



THE UNLOVELY. 125 

Alas ! I have a warm, true heart, / 
But when I show it people stare ; ' 
I must for ever dwell apart, 
Because I am not fair. 

I am least happy being where 
The hearts of others are most light, 
And strive to keep me out of sight, 

Because I am not fair ; 
The glad ones often give a glance. 
As I am sitting lonely there. 
That asks me why I do not dance, — 

Because I am not fair. 

And if to smile on them I dare. 
For that my heart with love runs o'er. 
They say ; " What is she laughing for? " — 

Because I am not fair ; 



126 THE UNLOVELY. 

Love scorned or misinterpreted, — 
It is the hardest thing to bear ; 
I often wish that I were dead, 
Because I am not fair. 

In joy or grief I must not share, 
For neither smiles nor tears on me 
Will ever look becomingly, 

Because I am not fair ; 
Whole days I sit alone and cry. 
And in my grave I wish I were, — 
Yet none will weep me if I die. 

Because I am not fair. 

My grave will be so lone and bare, 
I fear to think of those dark hours. 
For none will plant it o'er with flowers. 

Because I am not fair ; 



THE UNLOVELY. 127 

They will not in the summer come 
And speak kind words above me there ; 
To me the grave will be no home, 
Because I am not fair. 



1^8 



LOVE-SONG. 



Nearer to thy mother-heart, 
Simple Nature, press me. 
Let me know thee as thou art, 
Fill my soul and bless me ! 
I have loved thee long and well, 
I have loved thee heartily ; 
Shall I never in thee dwell. 
Never be at one with thee ? 

Inward, inward to thy heart. 
Kindly Nature, take me. 
Lovely even as thou art. 
Full of loving make me ! 



LOVE-SONG. 129 

Thou knowest nought of dead-cold forms, 
Knowest nought of littleness, 
Lifeful Truth thy being warms. 
Majesty and earnestness. 

Homeward, homeward to thy hearty 
Dearest Nature, call me ; 
Let no halfness, no mean part, 
Any longer thrall me ! 
I will be thy lover true, 
Will be a faithful soul. 
Then circle me, then look me through, 
Fill me with the mighty Whole. 



130 



SONG. 



All things are sad : — 
I go and ask of Memory, 
That she tell sweet tales to me 

To make me glad ; 
And she takes me by the hand, 
Leadeth to old places, 
Showeth the old faces 
In her hazy mirage-land ; 
O, her voice is sweet and low, 
And her eyes are fresh to mine 
As the dew 
Gleaming through 
The half-unfoMed eglantine. 
Long ago, long ago ! 



SONG. 131 

But I feel that I am only 

Yet more sad, and yet more lonely ! 

Then I turn to blue-eyed Hope, 
And beg of her that she will ope 
Her golden gates for me ; 
She is fair and full of grace. 
But she hath the form and face 
Of her mother Memory ; 
Clear as air her glad voice ringeth. 
Joyous are the songs she singeth. 
Yet I hear them mournfully ; — 
They are songs her mother taught her, 
Crooning to her infant daughter. 
As she lay upon her knee. 
Many little ones she bore me, 
Woe is me ! in by-gone hours. 
Who danced along and sang before me, 
Scattering my way with flowers ; 

One by one 

They are gone, 



132 SONG. 

And their silent graves are seen, 
Shining fresh with mosses green, 
Where the rising sunbeams slope 
O'er the dewy land of Hope. 

But, when sweet Memory faileth. 
And Hope looks strange and cold ; 
When youth no more availeth. 
And Grief grows over bold ; — 
When softest winds are dreary, 
And summer sunlight weary. 
And sweetest things uncheery. 

We know not why ; — 
When the crown of our desires 
Weighs upon the brow and tires. 

And we would die. 
Die for, ah ! we know not what. 
Something we seem to have forgot. 
Something we had, and now have not; 
When the present is a weight 
And the future seems our foe, 



SONG. ^ 133 

And with shrinking eyes we wait, 
As one who dreads a sudden blow 
In the dark, he knows not whence ; — 
When Love at last his bright eye closes, 
And the bloom upon his face, 
That lends him such a living grace. 
Is a shadow from the roses 
Wherewith we have decked his bier, 
Because he once v/as passing dear ; — 
When we feel a leaden sense 
Of nothingness and impotence. 
Till we grow mad, — 
Then the body saith, 
" There 's but one true faith ; 
All things are sad ! " 



134 



A LOVE-DREAM. 



Pleasant thoughts come wandering, 
When thou art far, from thee to me ; 
On their silver wings they bring 
A very peaceful ecstasy, 
A feeling of eternal spring ; 
So that Winter half forgets 
Every thing but that thou art. 
And, in his bewildered heart, 
Dreameth of the violets, 
Or those bluer flowers that ope. 
Flowers of steadfast love and hope, 
Watered by the living wells 
Of memories dear, and dearer prophecies, 
Where young Spring for ever dwells 
In the sunshine of thine eyes. 



A LOVE-DREAM. 135 

I have most holy dreams of thee, 

All night I have such dreams ; 
And, when I wake, reality 

No whit the darker seems ; 
Through the twin gates of Hope and Memory 
They pour in crystal streams 
From out an angel's calmed eyes. 
Who, from twilight till sunrise. 
Far away in the upper deep. 
Poised upon his shining wings. 
Over us his watch doth keep. 
And, as he watcheth, ever sings. 

Through the still night I hear him sing, 

Down-looking on our sleep ; 
I hear his clear, clear harp-strings ring, 
And, as the golden notes take wing, 
Gently downward hovering, 

For very joy I weep ; 



136 A LOVE-DREAM. 

He singeth songs of holy Love, 
That quiver through the depths afar, 
Where the blessed spirits are, 
And lingeringly from above 
Shower till the morning star 
His silver shield hath buckled on 
And sentinels the dawn alone, 
Quivering his gleamy spear 
Through the dusky atmosphere. 

Almost, my love, I fear the morn, 
When that blessed voice shall cease. 
Lest it should leave me quite forlorn, 
Stript of my snowy robe of peace ; 
And yet the bright reality 
Is fairer than all dreams can be. 
For, through my spirit, all day long. 
Ring echoes of that angel-song 
In melodious thoughts of thee ; 



A LOVE-DREAM. 137 

And well I know it cannot die 
Till eternal morn shall break, 
For, through life's slumber, thou and I 
Will keep it for each other's sake, 
And it shall not be silent when we wake. 



1S8 



FOURTH OF JULY ODE. 



Our fathers fought for Liberty, 
They struggled long and well, 
History of their deeds can tell, — 
But did they leave us free ? 

II. 

Are we free from vanity, 
Free from pride, and free from self, 
Free from love of power and pelf. 
From every thing that 's beggarly ? 

III. 
Are we free from stubborn will. 
From low hate and malice small. 



FOURTH OF JULY ODE. 139 

From opinion's tyrant thrall ? 

Are none of us our own slaves still ? 

IV. 

Are we free to speak our thought, 
To be happy, and be poor. 
Free to enter Heaven's door, 
To live and labor as we ought ? 

V. 

Are we then made free at last 
From the fear of what men say. 
Free to reverence To-day, 
Free from the slavery of the Past ? 

VI. 

Our fathers fought for liberty, 
They struggled long and well. 
History of their deeds can tell, — 
But ourselves must set us free ! 



140 



SPHINX. 

I. 

Why mourn we for the golden prime 
When our young souls icere kingly, strong, and true 

The soul is greater than all time, 
It changes not, but yet is ever new. 

II. 

But that the soul is noble, we 
Could never know what nobleness had been ; 

Be what ye dream ! and earth shall see 
A greater greatness than she e'er hath seen. 

III. 
The flower pines not to be fair, 
It never asketh to be sweet and dear. 



SPHINX. 141 

But gives itself to sun and air, 
And so is fresh and full from year to year. 

IV. 

Nothing in Nature weeps its lot, 
Nothing, save man, abides in memory, 

Forgetful that the Past is what 
Ourselves may choose the coming time to be. 

V. 

All things are circular ; the Past 
Was given us to make the Future great ; 

And the void Future shall at last 
Be the strong rudder of an after fate. 

VI. 

We sit beside the Sphinx of Life, 
We gaze into its void, unanswering eyes. 

And spend ourselves in idle strife 
To read the riddle of their mysteries. 



142 SPHINX. 

VII. 

Arise ! be earnest and be strong ! 
The Sphinx's eyes shall suddenly grow clear, 

And speak as plain to thee ere long, 
As the dear maiden's who holds thee most dear. 

VIII. 

The meaning of all things in us, — 
Yea, in the lives we give our souls, — doth lie ; 

Make, then, their meaning glorious 
By such a life as need not fear to die ! 

IX. 

There is no heart-beat in the day. 
Which bears a record of the smallest deed, 

But holds within its faith alway 
That which in doubt we vainly strive to read. 

X. 

One seed contains another seed. 
And that a third, and so for evermore ; 



SPHINX. 143 

And promise of as great a deed 
Lies folded in the deed that went before. 

XI. 

So ask not fitting space or time ; 
Ye could not dream of things which could not be ; 

Each day shall make the next sublime, 
And Time be swallowed in Eternity. 

XII. 

God bless the Present ! it is all ; 
It has been Future, and it shall be Past ; 

Awake and live ! thy strength recall, 
And in one trinity unite them fast. 

XIII. 

Action and Life, — lo ! here the key 
Of all on earth that seemeth dark and wrong ; 

Win this, — and, with it, freely ye 
May enter that bright realm for which ye long. 



144 SPHINX. 

I 

XIV. 

Then all these bitter questionings 
^hall with a full and blessed answer meet ; 

Past worlds, whereof the Poet sings, 
Shall be the earth beneath his snow-white feet. 



145 



SONNETS. 



DISAPPOINTMENT. 



I PRAY thee call not this society ; 
I asked for bread, thou givest me a'stone-;- 
I am an hungered, and I find not one 
To give me meat, to joy or grieve with me ; 
I find not here what I went out to see, — 
Souls of true men, of women who can move 
The deeper, better part of us to love. 
Souls that can hold with mine communion free. 
Alas ! must then these hopes, these longings high. 
This yearning of the soul for., brotherhood, 
And all that makes us pure, and wise, and good, 
Come broken-hearted, home again to die? 
No, Hope is left, and prays with bended head, 
" Give us this day, O God, our daily bread ! " 
10 



146 SONNETS. 



II. 



Great human nature, whither art thou fled ? 
Are these things creeping forth and back agen, 
These hollow formalists and echoes, men ? 
Art thou entombed with the mighty dead ? 
In God's name, no ! not yet hath all been said, 
Or done, or longed for, that is truly great ; 
These pitiful, dried crusts will never sate 
Natures for which pure Truth is daily bread ; 
We were not meant to plod along the earth, 
Strange to ourselves and to our fellows strange ; 
We were not meant to struggle from our birth 
To skulk and creep, and in mean pathways range ; 
Act ! with stern truth, large faith, and loving will ! 
Up and be doing ! God is with us still. 



SONNETS. 147 



III. 



TO A FRIEND. 

One strip of bark may feed the broken tree, 
Giving to some few limbs a sickly green ; 
And one light shower on the hills, I ween. 
May keep the spring from drying utterly. 
Thus seemeth it with these our hearts to be ; 
Hope is the strip of bark, the shower of rain. 
And so they are not wholly crushed with pain^ 
But live and linger on, far sadder sight to see ! 
Much do they err, who tell us that the heart 
May not be broken ; what, then, can we call 
A broken heart, if this may not be so. 
This death in life, when, shrouded in its pallj 
Shunning and shunned', it dwelleth all apart, 
Its power, its love, its sympathy laid low ? 



148 SONNETS. 



IV. 

CONTINUED. 

So it may be, but let it not be so, 

O, let it not be so with thee, my friend ; 

Be of good courage, bear up to the end, 

And on thine after way rejoicing go ! 

We all must suffer, if we aught would know ; 

Life is a teacher stern, and wisdom's crown 

Is oft a crown of thorns, whence, trickling down. 

Blood, mixed with tears, blinding our eyes doth flow ; 

But Time, a gentle nurse, shall wipe away 

This bloody sweat, and thou shalt find on earth. 

That woman is not all in all to Love, 

But, living by a new and second birth, 

Thy soul shall see all things below, above. 

Grow bright and brighter to the perfect day. 



SONNETS. 149 



V. 



O CHILD of Nature ! O most meek and free, 
Most gentle spirit of true nobleness ! 
Thou doest not a worthy deed the less 
Because the world may not its greatness see ; 
What were a thousand triumphings to thee, 
Who, in thyself, art as a perfect sphere 
Wrapt in a bright and natural atmosphere 
Of mighty-souledness and majesty ? 
Thy soul is not too high for lowly things. 
Feels not its strength seeing a brother weak, 
Not for itself unto itself is dear. 
But for that it may guide the wanderings 
Of fellow-men, and to their spirits speak 
The lofty faith of heart that knows no fear. 



150 SONNETS. 



VI. 



" For this true nobleness I seek in vain, 

In woman and in man I find it not ; 

I almost weary of my earthly lot, 

My life-springs are dried up with burning pain." — 

Thou find'st it not ? I pray ihee look again, 

Look inward through the depths of thine own soul ; 

How is it with thee ? Art thou sound and whole ? 

Doth narrow search show thee no earthly stain ? 

Be noble ! and the nobleness that lies 

In other men, sleeping but never dead, 

Will rise in majesty to meet thine own ; 

Then wilt thou see it gleam in many eyes, 

Then will pure light around thy path be shed, 

And thou wilt nevermore be sad and lone. 



BONNETS. 151 



VII. 



TO 



Deem it no Sodom-fruit of vanity, 

Or fickle fantasy of unripe youth 

Which ever takes the fairest shows for truth, 

That I should wish my verse beloved of thee ; 

'T is love's deep thirst which may not quenched be. 

There is a gulf of longing and unrest, 

A wild love-craving not to be represt. 

Whereto in all our hearts, as to the sea. 

The streams of feeling do for ever flow. 

Therefore it is that thy well-meted praise 

Falleth so shower-like and fresh on me, 

Filling those springs which else had sunk full low, 

Lost in the dreary desert-sands of woe, 

Or parched by passion's fierce and withering blaze. 



152 SONNETS. 



VIII. 



CONTINUED. 



Might I but be beloved, and, O most fair 
And perfect-ordered soul, beloved of thee, 
How should I feel a cloud of earthly care. 
If thy blue eyes were ever clear to me ? 
; O woman's love ! O flower most bright and rare ! 
That blossom'st brightest in extremest need, 
Woe, woe is me ! that thy so precious seed 
Is ever sown by Fancy's changeful air, 
And grows sometimes in poor and barren hearts. 
Who can be little even in the light 
Of thy meek holiness, — while souls more great 
Are left to wander in a starless night. 
Praying unheard, — and yet the hardest parts 
Befit those best who best can cope with Fate. 



SONNETS. 153 



IX. 



Why should we ever weary of this life ? 
Our souls should widen ever, not contract, 
Grow stronger, and not harder, in the strife, 
Filling each moment with a noble act : 
If we live thus, of vigor all compact. 
Doing our duty to our fellow-men. 
And striving rather to exalt our race 
Than our poor selves, with earnest hand or pen. 
We shall erect our names a dwelling-place 
Which not all ages shall cast down agen ; 
Offspring of Time shall then be born each hour. 
Which, as of old, earth lovingly shall guard. 
To live for ever in youth's perfect flower. 
And guide her future children Heavenward. 



154 SONNETS. 



X. 



GREEN MOUNTAINS. 



Ye mountains, that far off lift up your heads, 
Seen dimly through their canopies of blue, 
The shade of my unrestful spirit sheds 
Distance-created beauty over you ; 
I am not well content with this far view ; 
How may I know what foot of loved-one treads 
Your rocks moss-grown and sun-dried torrent beds ? 
We should love all things better, if we knew 
What claims the meanest have upon our hearts : 
Perchance even now some eye, that would be bright 
To meet my own, looks on your mist-robed forms ; 
Perchance your grandeur a deep joy imparts 
To souls that have encircled mine with light, — 
O brother-heart, with thee my spirit warms ! 



SONNETS. 155 



XI. 



My friend, adown Life's valley, hand in hand. 

With grateful change of grave and merry speech 

Or song, our hearts unlocking each to each. 

We '11 journey onward to the silent land ; 

And when stern Death shall loose that loving band, 

Taking in his cold hand a hand of ours. 

The one shall strew the other's grave with flowers. 

Nor shall his heart a moment be unmanned. 

My friend and brother ! if thou goest first. 

Wilt thou no more re-visit me below ? 

Yea, when my heart seems happy causelessly 

And swells, not dreaming why, as it would burst 

With joy unspeakable, — my soul shall know 

That thou, unseen, art bending over me. 



156 SONNETS. 



XII. 



Verse cannot say how beautiful thou art, 
How glorious the calmness of thine eyes, 
Full of unconquerable energies. 
Telling that thou hast acted well thy part. 
No doubt or fear thy steady faith can start, 
No thought of evil dare come nigh to thee, 
Who hast the courage meek of purity. 
The self-stayed greatness of a loving heart. 
Strong with serene, enduring fortitude ; 
Where'er thou art, that seems thy fitting place, 
For not of forms, but Nature, art thou child ; 
And lowest things put on a noble grace 
When touched by ye, O patient, Ruth-like, mild 
And spotless hands of earnest womanhood. 



SONNETS. 157 



XIII. 



The soul would fain its lovingkindness tell, 

But custom hangs like lead upon the tongue ; 

The heart is brimful, hollow crowds among. 

When it finds one whose life and thought are well ; 

Up to the eyes its gushing love doth swell. 

The angel cometh and the waters move, 

Yet is it fearful still to say " I love," 

And words come grating as a jangled bell. 

O might we only speak but what we feel. 

Might the tongue pay but what the heart doth owe, 

Not Heaven's great thunder, when, deep peal on peal, 

It shakes the earth, could rouse our spirits so. 

Or to the soul such majesty reveal. 

As two short words half-spoken faint and low ! 



158 SONNETS 



XIV. 



I SAW a gate : a harsh voice spake and said, 

" This is the gate of Life ; " above was writ, 

'' Leave hope behind, all ye who enter it ;" 

Then shrank my heart within itself for dread ; 

But, softer than the summer rain is shed. 

Words dropt upon my soul, and they did say, 

" Fear nothing, Faith shall save thee, watch and pray ! " 

So, without fear I lifted up my head. 

And lo ! that writing was not, one fair word.^ j^ I 

Was carven in its stead, and it was " Love." 

Then rained once more those sweet tones from above 

With healing on their wings : I humbly heard, 

" I am the Life, ask and it shall be given ! 

I am the way, by me ye enter Heaven ! " 



SONNETS. 159 



XV. 



I WOULD not have this perfect love of ours 

Grow from a single root, a single stem, ' 

Bearing no goodly fruit, but only flowers 

That idly hide Life's iron diadem : 

It should grow alway like that Eastern tree 

Whose limbs take root and spread forth constantly ; 

That love for one, from which there doth not spring 

Wide Love for all, is but a worthless thing. 

Not in another world, as poets prate. 

Dwell we apart, above the tide of things. 

High floating o'er earth's clouds on faery wings ; 

But our pure love doth ever elevate 

Into a holy bond of brotherhood 

All earthly things, making them pure and good. 



160 SONNETS. 



XVI. 



To the dark, narrow house when loved ones go, 
Whence no steps outward turn, whose silent door 
None but the sexton knocks at any more, 
Are they not sometimes with us yet below ? 
The longings of the soul would tell us so ; 
Although, so pure and fine their being's essence, 
Our bodily eyes are witless of their presence. 
Yet not within the tomb their spirits glow. 
Like wizard lamps pent up, but whensoever 
With great thoughts worthy of their high behests 
Our souls are filled, those bright ones with us be, 
As, in the patriarch's tent, his angel guests ; — 
O let us live so worthily, that never 
We may be far from that blest company ! 



SONNETS. 161 



XVII. 



I FAIN would give to thee the loveliest things, 
For lovely things belong to thee of right, 
And thou hast been as peaceful to my sight, 
As the still thoughts that suramer twilight brings ; 
Beneath the shadow of thine angel wings 
O let me live ! O let me rest in thee, 
Growing to thee more and more utterly. 
Upbearing and upborne, till outward things 
Are only as they share in thee a part ! 
Look kindly on me, let thy holy eyes 
Bless me from the deep fulness of thy heart : 
So shall my soul in its right strength arise, 
And nevermore shall pine and shrink and start, 
Safe sheltered in thy full-souled sympathies. 
11 



162 SONNETS. 



XVIII. 



Much had I mused of Love, and in my soul 

There was one chamber where I dared not look, 

So much its dark and dreary voidness shook 

My spirit, feeling that I was not whole : 

All my deep longings flowed toward one goal 

For long, long years, but were not answered, 

Till Hope was drooping, Faith wellnigh stone-dead, 

And I was still a blind, earth-delving mole :/ 

Yet did I know that God was wise and good. 

And would fulfil my being late or soon ; 

Nor was such thought in vain, for, seeing thee, 

Great Love rose up, as, o'er a black pine wood, 

Round, bright, and clear, upstarteth the full moon, 

Filling my soul with glory utterly. 



SONNETS. 163 



XIX. 



Sayest thou, most beautiful, that thou wilt wear 
Flowers and leafy crowns when thou art old, 
And that thy heart shall never grow so cold 
But they shall love to wreathe thy silvered hair 
And into age's snows the hope of spring-tide bear? 
O, in thy childlike wisdom's moveless hold 
Dwell ever ! still the blessings manifold 
Of purity, of peace, and untaught care 
For others' hearts, around thy pathway shed. 
And thou shalt have a crown of deathless flowers 
To glorify and guard thy blessed head 
And give their freshness to thy life's last hours ; 
And, when the Bridegroom calleth, they shall be 
A wedding-garment white as snow for thee. 



164 SONxNETS. 



XX. 



Poet ! who sittest in thy pleasant room, 
Warming thy heart with idle thoughts of love, 
And of a holy life that leads above, 
Striving to keep life's spring-flowers still in bloom, 
And lingering to snufl" their fresh perfume, — 
0, there were other duties meant for thee, 
Than to sit down in peacefulness and Be ! 
O, there are brother-hearts that dwell in gloom. 
Souls loathsome, foul, and black with daily sin. 
So crusted o'er with baseness, that no ray 
Of Heaven's blessed light may enter in ! 
Come down, then, to the hot and dusty way, 
And lead them back to hope and peace again, — 
For, save in Act, thy Love is all in vain. 



SONNETS, 



XXI. 

"no more but so?" 

No more but so ? Only with uncold looks, 
And with a hand not laggard to clasp mine, 
Think'st thou to pay what debt of love is thine ? 
No more but so ? Like gushing water-brooks. 
Freshening and making green the dimmest nooks 
Of thy friend's soul thy kindliness should flow ; 
But, if 't is bounded by not saying *' no," 
I can find more of friendship in my books. 
All lifeless though they be, and more, far more 
In every simplest moss, or flower, or tree ; 
Open to me thy heart of heart's deep core. 
Or never say that I am dear to thee ; 
Call me not Friend, if thou keep close the door 
That leads into thine inmost sympathy. 



166 SONNETS. 



XXII. 

TO A VOICE HEARD IN MOUNT AUBURN. 

Like the low warblings of a leaf-hid bird, 

Thy voice came to me through the screening trees, 

Singing the simplest, long-known melodies ; 

I had no glimpse of thee, and yet I heard 

And blest thee for each clearly-carolled word ; 

I longed to thank thee, and my heart would frame 

Mary or Ruth, some sisterly, sweet name 

For thee, yet could I not my lips have stirred ; 

I knew that thou wert lovely, that thine eyes 

Were blue and downcast, and methought large tears, 

Unknown to thee, up to their lids must rise 

With half-sad memories of other years. 

As to thyself alone thou sangest o'er 

Words that to childhood seemed to say, " No more ! " 



SONNETS. 167 



XXIII. 
ON READING SPENSER AGAIN. 

Dear, gentle Spenser ! thou my soul dost lead, 

A little child again, through Fairyland, 

By many a bower and stream of golden sand, 

And many a sunny plain whose light doth breed 

A sunshine in my happy heart, and feed 

My fancy whh sweet visions ; I become 

A knight, and with my charm.ed arms would roam 

To seek for fame in many a wondrous deed 

Of high emprize, — for I have seen the light 

Of Una's angel's face, the golden hair 

And backward eyes of startled Florimell ; 

And, for their holy sake, I would outdare 

A host of cruel Paynims in the fight, 

Or Archimage and all the powers of Hell. 



168 SONNETS, 



XXIV. 



Light of mine eyes ! with thy so trusting look, 
And thy sweet smile of charity and love, 
That from a treasure well uplaid above, 
And from a hope in Christ its blessing took ; 
Light of my heart! which, when it could not brook 
The coldness of another's sympathy. 
Finds ever a deep peace and stay in thee, 
Warm as the sunshine of a mossy nook ; 
Light of my soul ! who, by thy saintliness 
And faith that acts itself in daily life. 
Canst raise me above weakness, and canst bless 
The hardest thraldom of my earthly strife, — 
I dare not say how much thou art to me 
Even to myself, — and O, far less to thee ! 



SONNETS. 169 



XXV. 



Silent as one who treads on new-fallen snow, 

Love came upon me ere I was aware ; 

Not light of heart, for there was troublous care 

Upon his eyelids, drooping them full low. 

As with sad memory of a healed woe ; 

The cold rain shivered in his golden hair. 

As if an outcast lot had been his share, 

And he seemed doubtful whither he should go : 

Then fell he on my neck, and, in my breast 

Hiding his face, awhile sobbed bitterly, 

As half in grief to be so long distrest. 

And half in joy at his security, — 

At last, uplooking from his place of rest. 

His eyes shone blessedness and hope on rae. 



170 SONNETS. 



XXVI. 



A GENTLENESS that grows of steady faith ; 
A joy that sheds its sunshine everywhere ; 
A humble strength and readiness to bear 
Those burthens which strict duty ever lay'th 
Upon our souls ; — which unto sorrow saith, 
" Here is no soil for thee to strike thy roots, 
Here only grow those sweet and precious fruits ; 
Which ripen for the soul that well obey'th ; " 
A patience which the world can neither give 
Nor take away ; a courage strong and high, 
That dares in simple usefulness to live. 
And without one sad look behind to die 
When that day comes ; — these tell me that our love 
Is building for itself a home above. 



SONNETS 171 



XXVII. 



When the glad soul is full to overflow, 

Unto the tongue all power it denies, 

And only trusts its secret to the eyes ; 

For, by an inborn wisdom, it doth know 

There is no other eloquence but so ; 

And, when the tongue's weak utterance doth suffice, 

Prisoned within the body's cell it lies. 

Remembering in tears its exiled woe : 

That word which all mankind so long to hear. 

Which bears the spirit back to whence it came, 

Maketh this sullen clay as crystal clear. 

And will not be enclouded in a name ; 

It is a truth which we can can feel and see, 

But is as boundless as Eternity. 



173 SONNETS. 



XXVIII. 

TO THE EVENING-STAR. 

When we have once said lowly, " Evening-star ! " 
Words give no more, — for, in thy silver pride, 
Thou shinest as nought else can shine beside : 
The thick smoke, coiling round the sooty bar 
Forever, and the customed lamp-light mar 
The stillness of my thought, — seeing things glide 
So samely : — then I ope my window wide. 
And gaze in peace to where thou shin'st afar ; 
The wind that comes across the faint-white snow 
So freshly, and the river dimly seen. 
Seem like new things that never had been so 
Before ; and thou art bright as thou hast been 
Since thy white rays put sweetness in the eyes 
Of the first souls that loved in Paradise. 



SONNETS. 173 



XXIX. 

READING, 

As one who on some well-known landscape looks, 

Be it. alone, or with some dear friend nigh, 

Each day beholdeth fresh variety. 

New harmonies of hills, and trees, and brooks, — 

So is it with the worthiest choice of books, 

And oftenest read : if thou no meaning spy, 

Deem there is meaning wanting in thine eye ; 

We are so lured from judgment by the crooks 

And winding ways of covert fantasy. 

Or turned unwittingly down beaten tracks 

Of our foregone conclusions, that we see. 

In our own want, the writer's misdeemed lacks : 

It is with true books as with Nature, each 

New day of living doth new insight teach. 



174 SONNETS. 



XXX. 

TO , AFTER A SNOW-STORM. 

Blue as thine eyes the river gently flows 
Between his banks, which, far as eye can see, 
Are whiter than aught else on earth may be, 
Save inmost thoughts that in thy soul repose ; 
The trees, all crystalled by the melted snows. 
Sparkle with gems and silver, such as we 
In childhood saw 'mong groves of Faerie, 
And the dear skies are sunny-blue as those ; 
Still as thy heart, when next mine own it lies 
In love's full safety, is the bracing air ; 
The earth is all enwrapt with draperies 
Snow-white as that pure love might choose to 

wear, — 
O for one moment's look into thine eyes^ 
To share the joy such scene would kindle there ! 



175 



SONNETS ON NAMES. 



EDITH. 

A LILY with its frail cup filled with dew, 
Down-bending modestly, snow-white and pale. 
Shedding faint fragrance round its native vale, 
Minds me of thee, sweet Edith, mild and true, 
And of thine eyes so innocent and blue : 
Thy heart is fearful as a startled hare, 
Yet hath in it a fortitude to bear 
For Love's sake, and a gentle faith which grew 
Of Love : need of a stay whereon to lean. 
Felt in thyself, hath taught thee to uphold 
And comfort others, and to give, unseen. 
The kindness thy still love cannot withhold : 
Maiden, I would my sister thou hadst been. 
That round thee I my guarding arms might fold. 



176 SONNETS ON NAMES. 



II. 

ROSE. 

My ever-lightsome, ever-laughing Rose, 
Who alway speakest first and thinkest last, 
Thy full voice is as clear as bugle-blast ; 
Right from the ear down to the heart it goes 
And says, " I 'm beautiful ! as who but knows ? " 
Thy name reminds me of old romping days, 
Of kisses stolen in dark passage-ways. 
Or in the parlour, if the moiher-nose 
Gave sign of drowsy watch. I wonder where 
Are gone thy tokens, given with a glance 
So full of everlasting love till morrow. 
Or a day's endless grieving for the dance 
Last night denied, backed with a lock of hair 
That spake of broken hearts and deadly sorrow. 



SONNETS ON NAMES. 177 



III. 



MARY. 

Dark hair, dark eyes, — not too dark to be deep 
And full of feeling, yet enough to glow 
With fire when angered ; feelings never slow, 
But which seem rather watching to forthleap 
From her full breast ; a gently-flowing sweep 
Of words in common talk, a torrent-rush, 
Whenever through her soul swift feelings gush ; 
A heart less ready to be gay than weep. 
Yet cheerful ever ; a calm matron-smile, 
That bids God bless you ! a chaste simpleness, 
With somewhat, too, of " proper pride," in dress ; - 
This portrait to my mind's eye came, the while 
I thought of thee, the well-grown woman Mary, 
Whilome a gold-haired, laughing little fairy. 
12 



178 SONNETS ON NAMES. 



IV. 



CAROLINE. 

A STAiDNESS sobers o'er her pretty face, 

Which something but ill-hidden in her eyes, 

And a quaint look about her lips denies ; 

A lingering love of girlhood you can trace 

In her checked laugh and half- restrained pace ; 

And, when she bears herself most womanly. 

It seems as if a watchful mother's eye 

Kept down with sobering glance her childish grace: 

Yet oftentimes her nature gushes free 

As water long held back by little hands, 

Within a pump, and let forth suddenly. 

Until, her task remembering, she stands 

A moment silent, smiling doubtfully. 

Then laughs aloud and scorns her hated bands. 



SONNETS ON NAMES. 179 



V. 



ANNE. 

There is a pensiveness in quiet Anne, 

A mournful drooping of the full, gray eye, 

As if she had shook hands with Misery, 

And known some care since her short life began ; 

Her cheek is seriously pale, nigh wan. 

And, though of cheerfulness there is no lack, 

You feel as if she must be dressed in black ; 

Yet is she not of those who, all they can. 

Strive to be gay, and, striving, seem most sad, — 

Her's is not grief, but silent soberness ; 

You would be startled if you saw her glad. 

And startled if you saw her weep, no less ; 

She walks through life, as, on the Sabbath day, 

She decorously glides to church to pray. 



180 



GOE, LITTLE BOOKE ! 



Go, little book I the world is wide, 
There 's room and verge enough for thee ; 
For thou hast learned that only pride 
Lacketh lit opportunity, 
Which comes unhid to modesty. 

Go ! win thy way with gentleness : 
I send thee forth, my first-born child, 
Quite, quite alone, to face the stress 
Of fickle skies and pathways wild, 
Where few can keep them undefiled. 

Thou camest from a poet's heart, 
A warm, still home, and full of rest ; 
Far from the pleasant eyes thou art 
Of those who know and love thee best. 
And by whose hearthstones thou wert blest. 



«'GOE, LITTLE BOOKEl" 181 

Go I knock thou softly at the door 
Where any gentle spirits bin, 
Tell them thy tender feet are sore, 
Wandering so far from all thy kin, 
And ask if thou may enter in. 

Beg thou a cup-full from the spring 
Of Charity, in Christ's dear name ; 
Few will deny so small a thing, 
Nor ask unkindly if thou came 
Of one whose life might do thee shame. 

We all are prone to go astray. 
Our hopes are bright, our lives are dim ; 
But thou art pure, and if they say, 
" We know thy father, and our whim 
He pleases not," — plead thou for him. 

For many are by whom all truth. 
That speaks not in their mother-tongue. 
Is stoned to death with hands unruth, 
Or hath its patient spirit wrung 
Cold words and colder looks among. 



182 «<GOE, LITTLE BOOKE!" 

Yet fear thou not ! for skies are fair 
To all whose souls are fair within ; 
Thou wilt find shelter everywhere 
With those to whom a different skin 
Is not a damning proof of sin. 

But, if all others are unkind, 
There 's one heart whither thou canst fly 
For shelter from the biting wind ; 
And, in that home of purity, 
It were no bitter thing to die. 



I?D 



THE END. 



Co. 





E K K A T A . 




os-e 27, 


line 11, for loving 


read gentle 


" 41, 


" 9, « told! 


" told. .4 


" 51, 


" 9, " fair, 


" fair 


" 52, 


« 1, « came 


" come 


«' 80, 


last line, " life 


" earth 


", 108, 


line 11, " grief 


" griefs 



111, 



S, insert coldly before curled. 







Cj> ,o-«, < 




'. AUGUSTINE ^ *^^ 



